


To Release a Mockingbird

by BurningBehindMyEyes



Series: Birds of a Feather [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Angst, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Canon Typical Violence, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Multi, Tim Drake is Robin, Timeline What Timeline, Unreliable updates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2018-08-11 02:33:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7872592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningBehindMyEyes/pseuds/BurningBehindMyEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winged were not welcome in many places in the world. They were dangerous, especially to a normal human. Gotham was no exception to that rule. Damian was not really sure why he had been surprised when his father had announced his undying hatred of the Winged. The Winged had killed Bruce Wayne's parents, terrorized his home daily, and left Bruce, his friends, and family with uncountable scars. The Justice League was created to monitor the Winged of the world, to ensure they were not killing anyone. The more talented ones were able to hide their wings as tattoos on their backs, and pass as ordinary humans. Damian, of course, was no exception. If he was to take over the mantle of the Bat someday, then Bruce could never find out about the wings that spread from Damian's shoulder blades, grey and white, mimicking a mockingbird's perfectly. And just like how Bruce would never really know his son, Damian would never be free enough to truly fly again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flying Free

Damian Wayne sat in his bedroom. It was a new place for him, as he had just came from the Ad-Dahna desert in Saudi Arabia to this dark and dreary city. It was known as Gotham, and she was full of tall, darkened buildings, pollution radiating off the factories dotted across the landscape, and full of people looking to harm others. So unlike his home, where the League had built a base in the middle of Ad-Dahna, so no one could touch them. Damian looked out his window, watching as another anti-Winged commercial played upon the screens of a tall tower that had glass surrounding the outside, different screens upon said tower playing different things. The man in the previously mentioned commercial was speaking firmly, completely devoted to his cause. Beside him, there was a picture of what looked like a human. Two hands and arms, ten fingers. Two legs and feet, ten toes. Two eyes, a nose, a mouth, a spine. It appeared completely human, but the man in said commercial was quick to point out some of the major differences as deep blue eyes narrowed. Enormous back and shoulder muscles, larger lungs, larger heart, and a larger stomach. The requirement of more nourishment, but the largest difference of all... the beautiful, ebony wings upon the Winged's back.

 

All Winged were different, the man had explained. Some of them having wings unique to only them and others mimicking some type of bird. He went on to explain how the Winged had one ability, and only one. This ability made them dangerous, and they were banned in Gotham, along with several of her sister cities. The man continued, speaking gravely as he warned passing civilians yet again about several of the Winged that were currently housed in the Gotham prison, Arkham Asylum. The place was dedicated to removing the Winged's wings, and their abilities to ensure they were harmless. The man continued, listing off facts about the Asylum and some of it's well-known inmates. Scarecrow. The ability to induce fear through toxins. The wings of an eagle. Joker. The ability to mess with people's minds and cause long-term insanity and short-term hallucinations. White wings, with green tips and red streaks throughout. Poison Ivy. The ability to use pollens to induce hallucinations and raise hormone levels. Wings created out of plants, vines snaking up around her back and blooming like butterfly wings.

 

Only three examples, yet examples that struck fear within the hearts of Gotham civilians. Sure, there were normal criminals, and they were all put behind bars, but the previously listed were even more dangerous, all because of the feathers melded together that came from their shoulder blades. Deep blue eyes turned away from the window, and back to the room at hand. His left hand soothed the ache in his shoulders - he was missing them already - while his right reached for the ceiling. Perhaps he could allow himself a bit of a break. Damian took a deep breath, stilling his left hand and dropping it.

 

"Foolishness." he murmured to himself. A break was not in the cards, not now, not ever. Damian knew very well that if he were discovered, he would be sentenced to Arkham. He stepped quickly over to his immaculate desk, picking up the pristine sketchbook that lay closed, face down. He flipped it and opened to the first page, staring grimly at the sketch of a mockingbird. The main focus was the wings, which were open as if the bird was ready to fly. A strap of leather running parallel to the bird's head held the wings to the brick wall behind the mockingbird, while nails were driven through the middle of the throat and each leg, cruelly holding the dead bird to the wall. The wall was splattered in gore, the red being the only colour Damian had included. Everything else was shaded. On the bird, blood dripping off of a leg, the only part of the bird untouched and pure white being the proud patches of white on the middle of the wings. Damian eyed it carefully, tracing the feather detailing. His eyes slid closed without his permission, and his forehead came to rest on the sketch. The tattoos on his back stirred with unease, moving gently. Damian could feel the feathers brushing against his abnormally large back muscles as his stomach growled painfully. Damian opened his eyes once more and set the sketchbook down, moving quickly and quietly. His feet seemed to barely touch the ground as he moved, almost dancing upon the air. He could feel each current wrapping around the furniture, himself, and every movement that stirred the air. A particular current was caressing the side of his face, and he leaned into the touch, sighing softly. It had wrapped around the oak post of his four-poster bed, touched the red silk that hung from said bed, and gone over the red, patterned sheets. There was a current lazily drifting over the oak dresser pressed up against the far left of his room, while a much more violent current, coming from outside and his open window swirled around his desk. The red drapes along the window ruffled with the movement of the wind, and Damian looked up, to the outside. That's where his father was right now. Fighting crime and tracking down the Winged.

 

Where Damian should be, because he he had to become the Batman someday. However, Damian may have been allowed in Bruce Wayne’s house, but not in his heart. That was alright. Damian didn’t need his love, nor want it. He had not received it from his mother and he would not receive it from his father. He had accepted that. The boy stepped away from the window, bare feet making no noise against the solid wood paneling. The currents brushed by him, as if trying to console him as he walked by. Every Winged could feel the wind surrounding them, and it reacted to them like no other. The wind desperately tried to ruffle his wings, but they could not, not when they were trapped in the form of a black outline tattooed upon his back. As Damian left the room, he swore he could almost hear the wind acknowledging his pain, and mourning with him. Damian had spent time with his father before the nightly patrol, and it was quite safe to say that Damian had not met another human being who hated the Winged as much as Bruce Wayne did. There was a fire in his father’s eyes that burned and scalded anyone with a differing opinion. One look was all it took to know that if his father ever found out who, or what, Damian truly was, there would be nothing to stop the flames that would consume the nine year old until there was nothing left but ashes.

 

Damian was quiet, bypassing the old butler, Pennyworth, on his way to the kitchen. The man was dusting the portraits, even though there was not a speck of dirt to be found. Damian watched him for a moment before continuing on his way. His wings ruffled soothingly, trying to comfort the boy who was attached to them. Damian knew all too well that the old butler had fought a war against the Winged, and it had taken nearly everything from him. The boy dipped his head slightly in respect, and had his species been a fact he could disclose, he may have even allowed Pennyworth to take one of his feathers. Damian entered the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder at the blaring television. He supposed that Grayson must have left it on before leaving on patrol. The boy narrowed his eyes slightly, dark skin tensing as another safety announcement about the Winged played. He sighed softly, feet ghosting over the tiles. Bread was quickly pulled from the pantry, followed by crackers, the fruit platter from the fridge, and the unopened stick of cheddar. Damian pulled out two pieces of the multigrain Dempster's toast and quickly spread peanut butter on it, before replacing both the spread and the bread itself. With his food loaded into his hands, the boy tiptoed past the butler, who, once again, did not notice him go by. Or, if he had, made no indication of it. Damian thought to himself, that perhaps if his secret had to be shared, he would tell Pennyworth. The man seemed to stay out of other’s businesses as long as they did not destroy the kitchen or tilt the large portrait of Damian’s father when he was about his age, and his parents that hung above the roaring brick fireplace. Damian’s footsteps were muffled against the red carpet that lined the staircase that led up to the bedrooms. After retracing his steps and ensuring that he had gone into the correct wing, Damian quietly opened the door to his bedroom and slipped inside. He opened the fruit tray, which was balanced atop his head, and popped a piece of watermelon inside of his mouth. As he chewed, he set the rest of his prizes down on the desk as he viewed the window once again. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to go out, just for a little bit. Damian had been in Gotham for about two weeks now, and he had already estimated the time of his father’s arrival back home.

 

According to the news that was blaring on one of the large glass towers, the Joker had escaped Arkham yet again, and despite his left wing being half ripped off, still retained his abilities. There were warnings everywhere. That was enough to keep his father out for a while. Damian had enough time. The boy sought out his closet, stepping inside and parting two of the shirts that had recently been purchased for him. He grabbed the backpack that was nestled between them and quickly walked back over to his snacks. He carefully eased them inside, ensuring that nothing would spill. He slung the backpack over his one shoulder, shuddering as it came in contact with the tattoos upon his back. They squirmed uncomfortably, and Damian found himself soothing them.

 

_One moment, just one moment. Then we will be free._

 

The dark haired boy opened his window further, stepping outside. He placed his feet delicately on the flowerbed, avoiding the actual flowers, and curled his fingers into the ledge of his window. The window itself had a small piece of roof hanging over it, and Damian latched onto that, pulling himself up. His feet left his perch, then stepped onto the roof bit. He reached for one of the gargoyles next, easily pulling himself up, arm muscle bulging and as he steadied himself atop of the gargoyle. He ran from one to the next, going West, towards the higher rooftops. The boy hung off of one gargoyle as he grabbed a black domino mask from his backpack and plastered it onto his face before launching himself off of the roof. This free-falling feeling, the wind rustling ruffling through his hair, caressing him, was the closest he could get to the flying here. Damian knew full well the implications of allowing his wings free. Anyone could see him, and take a picture. Record some type of evidence. His father was not known as the World’s Greatest Detective for nothing, and Damian was not willing to take that chance. He could feel the currents racing downwards with him, soft laughter tinkling in his ears like the charms of tiny bells. The boy grabbed onto the zipline as he came close to it, hooking his fingers around the thick wire and sliding towards the large Gotham city building that had been playing the anti-Winged commercial earlier. It was one of the tallest in the city, and if Damian wanted to be left alone in peace to eat his food, he needed to be somewhere high up. As the zipline neared the roof of the other building, Damian flipped neatly onto it, landing in a roll. He stood up, brushing the gravel off of his pant knees as he gently eased the backup off his shoulder, trying not to wince at how it brushed against his tattoos. He sat down beside it once the blasted thing was off, and quickly unzipped it, this time choosing a large strawberry to bite into. It was sweet, but at the same time quite sour, and Damian enjoyed the taste immensely. He groaned slightly at the soothing juice entering his mouth. Winged did not eat meat, preferring to dine on fruit and vegetables and grains. They had a larger stomach, and required more nourishment to stay healthy due to their wings. Their hearts and lungs were much larger, requiring a larger stream of oxygen. Damian felt like he hadn’t eaten in days, when the truth of the matter was, he had eaten at exactly 6:30pm this evening for supper. It was now 12:56am, and Damian was starving. His mother had known exactly what she was doing when she injected the Winged traits into his gene pool before she began creating him in the artificial womb. She knew how powerful the Winged could be, depending on their abilities, and she wished that for him.

 

Damian loved his existence. Nothing quite compared to the feeling of truly flying. His wings were the most precious things to him, there was no way he’d give them up for anything. He would leave Gotham, abandon his destiny and his father if his father did eventually find out. There was no way Damian would be allowed to stay unless he was in Arkham, under an operating table slowly removing his wings from his body. Damian couldn’t suppress the horrified shudder at the thought, while his wings stretched out, slowly curving around his ribs, the tattoo moving, rippling along skin as if it was water. To distract himself, Damian allowed the sweet juice of another strawberry enter his mouth. He hummed in appreciation, before swallowing the bite and popping pieces of watermelon into his mouth until his cheeks puffed. He chewed slowly, not wishing to choke, before taking out his knife and gently cutting into the cheese. He cut it quickly, into small strips. As soon as he had swallowed his mouthful, he ripped open the cracker package and placed the mound of cheese atop the small morsel of grain. He popped that within his mouth, chewing and nodding in satisfaction at the taste and sound of the crunch. He continued working his way through his food, humming every so often at the food that he had been craving all day. He polished off the crackers and soon began just eating the cheese by itself. After trying a bite of apple and cheese at the same time, he decided immediately that this was delicious, and continued doing so until his apple supply in the fruit tray was gone. He tried the cheese with the other fruits, watermelon, strawberry, melon, and pineapple, but it all tasted gross with the cheddar. Damian gave up and ate the cheese by itself, grabbing the empty cracker sleeve and now empty package of cheddar and placing the wrappers within his backpack. He ate the fruit a little more slowly, feeling his hunger taper off.

 

Damian knew full well that the butler would notice the food gone come tomorrow, but Damian was nothing if not an excellent liar. However, he would need to purchase his own supplies otherwise Pennyworth may become far too suspicious. If that happened, the man would snoop and depending on what he found, any and all information would be reported directly to Damian’s father. Damian sighed softly, and popped the last piece of pineapple into his mouth, worrying the fruit with his tongue and pressing it against the roof of his mouth to suck out the juices before pressing his teeth down on it, breaking the fruit slowly and gently. He chewed the pieces, then swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing as the food moved down his throat. He sighed in relief and gathered up the empty plastic fruit tray before placing it back within his backpack. He rummaged throughout the second smallest pocket before pulling out a waterbottle. He uncapped it, then tipped the liquid into his mouth, drinking greedily with a stream of the liquid running from the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and then dripping off. As soon as the small plastic container was exhausted of it’s supply, Damian placed the bottle back into his backpack and checked the time on his watch once more. 1:32am. He stood up and stretched, feeling his back crack and his wings ruffle in pleasure. He smiled softly, before easing the backpack straps back onto his shoulders, trying not to wince too badly. Wings were sensitive things. Every blow against them hurt three time more than it would for a human, and every touch sparked nerves that simply did not exist for a normal person. It was intense, every time something brushed against his wings, and in the Winged community, only those closest to a Winged was allowed to touch their wings. Consent must be given, and if consent was not explicitly stated, the offender would often face charges. It was sort of like the human’s equivalent to rape. Wings brushing against another pair of wings indicated complete trust, and perhaps the pair were mates or to be mated, while giving someone a feather of your’s indicated true respect, that you held the person in highest regard.

 

Damian looked out onto the Gotham skyline and wondered why his father fought this fight. It would never cease and there was no reward except more punishment. Damian sighed softly and turned away, the wind caressing him softly, as if sensing his dark thoughts. There was a sudden quiet in the currents, in which Damian’s eyes widened. He turned around sharply, already gasping under his breath, and began to run. He had sensed it, just before. Like there was a calm before every storm, there was a quiet in the air before every explosion. Damian pinpointed the location seconds before the bomb went off, fire dancing in front of his eyes. He was blown backwards as the glass on the building he was perched on shattered into millions of pieces from the force of the blast. He had rolled with the impact, and other than the small cut in his shoulder, he was fine. Damian launched himself up, peering over the edge. Robin was lying on the ground, unmoving, as the Joker laughed crazily. Damian watched with increasing sickness as the man moved half of his left wing, the other half missing. It stirred up a wave of emotion in the boy, and he curled his fingers into his fist, knuckles white as he clenched his eyes and prepared for battle. His father needed that stupid ass, Timothy Drake. Damian hated to admit it, but right now, Drake needed to be around. Father took an obscene amount of comfort in the older boy’s presence, and dammit, Damian was **not** jealous, but Drake had to be alive. At the same time, everything in Damian’s instincts urged him to protect the Joker. He opened his eyes slowly, and felt tears building up before cascading down his cheeks, dripping down his chin as he saw the way the man moved. In pain, lost in the insanity that gripped him, missing half of _his wing_. The Arkham people weren’t helping him, they were making everything worse and everything in Damian screamed to help him, heal his wing, make him whole again. So the tears poured down his cheeks as the boy stood, and they continued to fall, crashing around the young Winged as he arched his back.

 

Sickening snaps of bone breaking and healing sounded across the skyline, barely audible as the boy screamed through gritted teeth. In both despair at what he had to do, and in pain. Flesh grafted over the bones arched over shoulders, feathers pressing out of said flesh and ripping their way downwards, grey in colour. Damian had fallen to his knees, and soon stood, Gotham buildings behind him, one knee underneath him as his wings spread to the sky. He had no choice to unveil them now, and quickly pulled his hood up and tightened the drawstring to avoid anyone seeing his face. His wings flaring out, proving exactly what bird he imitated - the mockingbird. Mockingbirds. Gray and white in colour, with large white patches in the middle of their wings being their trademark. Their wings are short, rounded, and broad, and Damian’s in particular had a wingspan of 140 inches. They are known to be able to mimic nearly any sound, and Damian is no exception. He curled his wings over his shoulders in a sharp angle before launching off the roof, muscle tensing before releasing as he launched himself into the air. Below him, Robin stirred, and sat up slightly. His eyes widened behind the domino mask, identifying both the Joker and a new Winged. Damian could almost see his mind racing a million miles an hour, most likely wondering how the hell he was supposed to get himself out of this one. One Winged, that he knew the ability of, was bad enough. Add in a second, unknown one, and Robin would be dead. That is, if Damian was attacking him. He dove, his wings steady above his back, the currents racing with him. As the Joker turned, a large, maniacal smile on his face as he went to greet the newcomer, Damian refused to stop or slow down. The evil clown’s eyes widened in realization as Damian slammed straight into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Damian recovered quickly and bashed the bony, strong part of his wing against the Joker’s head, effectively knocking him out. He turned his gaze to Robin, whose brows were drawn together in both confusion and suspicious, and merely dipped his head to the older boy. Damian would only respect him in this form. Damian tensed his upper back muscles, lifting his wings, before launching himself into the air. As he stumbled to his previous perch, he transformed his wings back into tattoos and grabbed the backpack he had brought with him. He swung from roof to roof, desperate to get home as quickly as possible. He dropped into his bedroom window, and hid his backpack in it’s previous spot, before stripping and quickly pulling on a pair of silk, blue pajamas. He dove into bed and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He heard footsteps as the butler came to check on him, the squeak of his door opening, and then the soft click as it locked once again. Damian’s deep blue eyes opened in the darkness, glowing an eerie bright blue colour. He sighed softly before shutting them once more.

What’s done is done. He had to save Robin, but he was sure that Drake had no clue it was him. He’d have to find out tomorrow. With that thought in his mind and unease in his belly, Damian drifted off to sleep, succumbing to the darkness that pulled at his vision.


	2. Threads of Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim reviews all of his knowledge of this new Winged, and explains himself at the Cave. Bruce makes a promise, both to himself and his son.

Tim was confused. However, confused didn’t even cover the feeling. He was at odds with himself, wondering why he had been saved. When the Joker had cornered him, he had fully expected to die, just like Jason, the previous Robin had. He saw the bomb way too late before it blew up in his face, shrapnel flying everywhere. Tim had stared up at the Joker, and half his missing left wing, and knew he was going to die. He was going to die surrounded by white and green wings, with streaks of red like blood throughout. The Joker - a Winged - and Batman’s greatest enemy was going to kill him. The man was insane, had been insane before he was sentenced to Arkham and just continued on his rampage after the doctors had torn part of his wing off in an attempt to control the craziness lurking within his mind. His age was unknown, but he loved setting off bombs and causing insanity wherever he went. He was absolutely crazy, and was known to love the scent of blood. He was known to be one of the many Winged who refused to hide his wings, ever, and who ate meat. To be specific, he loved human flesh. Tim had assumed that the Joker would eat part of him first, causing hallucinations before killing him brutally. Not with a crowbar, that joke was old. Tim had waited for death, but then he had seen _it_. The person who had swooped down was very small of stature, and baggy clothing hid all the muscle and skin tone Tim could have used to identify him. The boy had denim jeans, with a baggy black sweatshirt. The hood was up, with the strings pulled tight enough so that barely any part of his face was shown. What Tim remembered was the haunting, bright blue eyes that glowed from the darkness of the hood. The Joker had smiled, and turned to the newcomer as he dove towards them. A few meters away, Tim had noticed that the boy wasn’t stopping or slowing down. Like… like he was preparing to slam straight into the Joker. And away from Tim. Tim had watched, jaw dropping as the boy smashed straight into the Joker, sending them both tumbling. The boy had recovered quickly, one knee on the ground as he stood, eyes burning into the air in front of them. He leapt, then, smashing the humerus and radius bones into the side of the Joker’s head. The boy (or, at least, Tim assumed he was male. He couldn’t see any indication of a female from the body he could see) stepped back, wings folding up.

 

He had made eye contact with Tim as Tim desperately searched those bright blue eyes, and wondered if perhaps the boy had a personal vendetta against the Joker, or if he wanted the Joker out of the way so he could kill Tim himself. Before Tim could question the strange boy, he lifted his wings and took off into the air, disappearing into the Gotham skyline. Tim had remained on the ground for only a few moments before calling Batman on his comm-link.

 

“Robin to Batman.” he murmured quietly, still on the ground. “The Joker is down. An unknown Winged took him out. And before you ask, the new Winged did not touch me at all.”

 

 _“...an unknown Winged.”_ Nightwing repeated, disbelief shining steadily throughout his tone. _“A new Winged… who took down the **Joker**. And left you alone? Am I hearing correctly?” ___

__

__“Yes, you are.” Tim sighed. “Meet you back at the Cave. I’ll explain there. Robin out.” Tim gathered himself up, leaning his weight on shaking forearms. He dragged his knees up, and remained there a moment before standing up slowly. He could feel the small place where shrapnel from the bomb had pierced the Kevlar. He winced slightly and checked the wound, ensuring it wasn’t fatal. With that in mind, the Robin began limping over to the R-Cycle, mounting it and kicking the bike into action. He took off, weaving through cars and passing by white and blue GCPD cars as they drove by, followed by an ambulance and a fire truck. Most likely, they were going to detain the Joker and send him to Arkham - again -, ensure that no one was injured in the bomb explosion, and put out the large fire that was in fact created by said bomb. As Tim drove, he quickly went over the facts he did know about this new Winged. It had the height of a child, but it could just be incredibly short. Muscle mass, unknown. Any defining bodily marks, unknown. Skin tone, unknown. Eye colour, bright blue. Tim shook his head. No, that wouldn’t be his real colour. Often when skilled Winged pulled their wings out of tattoo form, their eyes glowed with the transformation. Tim went over every bit of knowledge he had gained about the dangerous species and quickly surmised that the Winged must have blue eyes of some form. They wouldn’t glow blue if their dormant colour was brown, for example. The eyes also glowed when they used their ability, but Tim had not seen any sign of an ability. Another curious action was when the Winged had slammed the humerus and radius bones into the side of the Joker’s head. Tim knew for a fact that Winged took their wings touching anything very seriously, and it was often known as an intimate gesture. But then Tim remembered how he thought the Winged may have been crying as he attacked. That would make sense, then, the Winged allowing his wing to touch the side of the Joker’s head… perhaps as an apology? Tim had read grief in those eyes as the Winged had taken in the Joker’s prone form. So, the Winged had attacked the Joker and felt guilty over it, to save Tim. If the boy (Tim was assuming) had been angry at the Joker, his eyes would have been much more narrowed and his lower eyelid more pronounced. The Winged had attacked the Joker to save Tim, that much was clear. Now all Tim required was a motive._ _

__

__Tim realized, with a jolt, that maybe he knew the Winged and that was why the human-bird hybrid had saved him. But in that case, he would have to be someone who knew that Tim was Robin. It could be any of the Titans, but Tim was sure that none of the Bats or extended Bat family were the Winged in this case. They were too hateful towards the creatures, it just wasn’t possible that one of them was hiding wings. But of course, they could be acting. Tim knew that Dick was an excellent actor, but there were many signs. Plus, he was too tall to be the Winged. Same went for Jason. Bruce was too tall, again, to be the Winged, and Tim knew for a fact that both of his parents had not been carriers of the Winged gene. Katherine Kane was much too tall to be the Winged, and she used guns, and hated the Joker. She wouldn’t feel grief for having harmed him. Cass was in Hong Kong, and there was no way she could have made it Gotham without Oracle noticing. Oracle was, well, in a _wheelchair_ , so she was out too. The last person Tim could think of was Damian, but that was impossible. Bruce wasn’t a carrier of the Winged gene, but perhaps Talia was? Tim shook his head again, he had personally looked over Damian’s genetic coding, and there was no sign of the Winged gene. Tim crossed all of the previously listed people out as he wove around a thick black truck. The man driving gaped at him, before Tim accelerated, and continued towards the Cave’s secret entrance. After ensuring that he was not being tailed, Tim entered through the waterfall and stopped his bike once he hit the platform. He dismounted, fingers gripping his chin and his mind racing a million miles an hour. The Winged’s wings! They were short, broad, and rounded. A wingspan of about 140 inches, Tim would guess… they resembled a mockingbird’s. Gray feathers, throughout the wing, except for a bright white patch in the middle of each wing that stretched from the radius bone to the bottom of the very last feathers sprouting out of the wings. They looked strong, but not particularly built for flight. Tim assumed that the Winged must be feeling that hit he gave the Joker. Almost all Winged had very light and hollow bones, which were easily snapped and broken. That’s how Tim and the rest of the Bats managed to put them back most of the time. They were really quite fragile, if you got past their powers._ _

__

__“Oi, Timmy!” Nightwing called from below him. Tim’s gaze switched to his older brother as he shook himself out of his daze and headed down to greet the older man._ _

__

__“I think I need stitches.” he murmured, showing Dick the wound. His older brother nodded solemnly and quickly herded Tim over to the medical bay, encouraging his little brother to lay down as he spoke about absolutely nothing useful. Soon, Bruce was looming over the pair of them, cowl down but cape still wrapping around his shoulders. Alfred joined the gathering, with the disinfectant in hand and stitches on the table next to him. Tim’s uniform was peeled off gently, and Alfred soon began wiping at the wound with the disinfectant. Tim hissed and almost squirmed away from the stinging, if not for the glare full of disapproval Alfred shot his way. Tim stilled immediately, pretending not to notice how Dick chuckled at his misfortune. Dick ruffled Tim’s hair sympathetically as he looked Tim up and down, checking for anymore injuries. Tim knew he had a couple of small cuts here and there, and several large patches of bruises, but nothing serious except for the shrapnel cut, just below his ribs on his left side. Alfred had removed the piece of glass and disinfected the wound, before grabbing the needle and thread and beginning to stitch Tim’s side back together. Tim sighed in relief and smiled at the old butler, before sitting up and letting his legs dangle on the infirmary cot._ _

__

__“I know what I saw.” Tim said, looking Bruce right in the eyes. The man’s deep blue eyes were hard, cold, and unfeeling, but Tim could read the confusion and relief in there. “A Winged attacked the Joker, and knocked him out cold with the humerus and radius bones of his upper wing. He slammed it against the side of the Joker’s head, and judging by how intimate allowing a wing to touch anyone is, I would assume that the Winged did so in order to apologize for the attack. I was not able to identify the Winged as male or female, but they were wearing baggy jeans and a large black sweatshirt, with the hood pulled up and strings pulled enough so that I could not see their face. Bright, shining blue eyes, which leads me to believe that this particular Winged can transform his wings from actual physical wings to tattoos on his back. The wings themselves looked like a mockingbird’s - gray feathers with large white patches stretching from the radius bone to the bottom of the wings themselves. I believe the new Winged was about 4’6”, but I couldn’t see the build nor the skin tone due to the clothes. If I had to guess, I’d say that it- they, looked like a child.” Tim spoke, quickly correcting himself for the use of ‘it’. “And I think they felt guilty for attacking the Joker, and I’m pretty sure they were crying as they attacked. They didn’t want to harm another member of their kind, especially… a crippled one, I suppose. But they did do it to protect me, I think. When you think about it… why would they attack another member of their kind, one that’s crippled **and** known for their insanity? They probably wouldn’t unless they had to, and the only reason it could have done that was to protect me. The name of ‘Robin’ is known throughout the Winged community as being one of the top ten Winged fighters to never run into. I was weak, on the ground, and vulnerable. I could have been killed easily, but that Winged left me alone. It even nodded towards me, like a sign of respect. It didn’t harm me, just flew off and disappeared. I’ve thought about it, you know, what if the Winged knew me outside of the costume? Unless someone’s busted us and just hasn’t said anything, it has to be one of us, one of the Justice League, or one of the Titans. I can’t imagine who, though… every one of us has been crossed out for reasons you two already know.”_ _

__

__“It protected you.” Bruce echoed, disbelievingly. “I’ve never known a Winged to do that.”_ _

__

__“I think that this one is a good guy.” Dick said, face serious. “He, and I’m just saying he so I don’t confuse myself, seems like a good person. I’ve read a couple books about the Winged and how they work as a community. They’re sort of like humans in the sense that they don’t leave anyone behind, and they take extra special care to care for the crippled, old, weak, and sick. According to those books, studying wild Winged behaviour, the crippled are considered very close to infants. They have an intense drive to protect those missing parts of their wings and are unable to fly due to it. If this Winged really did attack a cripple Winged for you, Tim, then he just went against years of evolutionary instincts to save your behind. If that doesn’t scream ‘Good Guy’ to you, then I don’t know what does.”_ _

__

__“We’ll look into this.” Bruce promised. “As for now, tell no one about the new Winged. We need to keep this under wraps. As soon as we discover who the Winged is, we can accurately ascertain if the Winged is truly a ‘Good Guy’ or not.” Bruce’s voice was thick and heavy with sarcasm and some sort of dark promise. “If the Winged fails the test, and I’m sure **it** will,” Bruce spoke with distaste and hatred lacing into every word, placing emphasis on the ‘it’, as if the Winged were not human enough to be given a gender. Both Tim and Dick winced, while Alfred closed his eyes and paused, sighing softly. “Then we eliminate it.” Bruce walked off then, to the computers and began a database search of known Winged around the world, by their wings. Each pair of wings was completely unique, meaning that there wouldn’t be another human-bird hybrid out there mimicking a mockingbird. Bruce knew he wouldn’t find anything. The Winged was most likely skilled enough to transform it’s wings into tattoos, and therefore, wouldn’t be stupid enough to be placed on the database. Just as Bruce predicted, no matches came up for a Winged with mockingbird-esque wings. The man sighed and rubbed at his temples, feeling the headache already pounding at his skull. This search would take a while, and they couldn’t just give it. It made no sense that a Winged would protect a known Winged-hunter, therefore, Tim was right. It must know who Tim was under the mask and Robin mantle. That was an enormous issue, and if Bruce wished to continue his vigilante activities unbothered, then no one could know his identity outside of the people who he fought together with on an everyday basis. If this Winged knew who Tim was, then they would almost certainly be intelligent enough to trace Tim back to Bruce. Tim’s parents had died not too long ago, and Bruce had officially adopted Tim into the Wayne family. It would be simple to trace Tim back to Bruce being Batman. That would put not only Bruce’s civilian identity in danger, it would also placed Alfred and Damian in danger as well. If this new Winged leaked the information it most likely possessed, they’d have swarms of Winged upon the manor in no time. Alfred was a capable fighter, but he would be slaughtered. And Damian…_ _

__

__Bruce knew Damian was capable. He knew that the child was strong, and able to fight several Winged. He knew Damian had had League training, he knew that the child was an assassin born in the League of Assassins and raised by both Talia al Ghul and Ra’s al Ghul as the next Alexander, the next person to conquer the world. He knew how powerful Damian could become, and he knew that Damian was well-versed in several different martial arts and had a katana within easy reach in his bedroom. Bruce also knew that Damian had been trained to kill, and would not hesitate to do so. But… despite all these facts, Damian was Bruce’s _son_. A child. He was only nine years old. And a nine year old, despite some of the brutalist training in the world, would not be able to defeat the Joker, Scarecrow, Harley Quinn, Penguin, Poison Ivy, and Black Mask all in one go. And that was only some of the inmates that were in and out of Arkham like a revolving door. No matter how powerful he was, and no matter how much Bruce wanted to believe in his child’s abilities, Damian was his son and therefore benched until twenty five. Or forever. Bruce didn’t want to hold another dead child in his arms, with the crushing knowledge that he was much, much too late. Damian was a child, and should be treated like one, even if he wouldn’t accept it. And while Bruce also knew that Damian wasn’t really a child, only looked like one, he also desperately wanted to shelter his son from the horrors of the world he knew Damian had already experienced. There was no turning back, for both Bruce and his son, and Bruce hated the knowledge of the path they were both on. Bruce by choice and Damian by birth. If Bruce didn’t allow Damian to fight in the coming years, the boy would escape and go back to his mother, which was virtually even worse than Bruce being around to save his son from the black demons ripping both of their souls apart. Bruce shared a similar fate with his son. They were both destined to die alone, crumpled in a street in Gotham, with a sword through some vital point in their body and feathers decorating the ground around them. They were destined to die choking on their own blood, knowing help was too far away and they were too far gone to help themselves. They were destined to die with that knowledge, and Bruce would do everything he could to protect his son from that horrible fate. Bruce had always known that that fate would befall all of Gotham’s vigilantes, but he hadn’t truly considered it until the night Jason lay dead in his arms, body stiff and cold. He didn’t truly realize it until he was burying a child who had had nothing but a hard life. He didn’t truly accept it until he was walking away from a grave he couldn’t bear to look at. And he didn’t truly project that knowledge until he had set up the memorial of Jason’s Robin costume, as a constant reminder of how Bruce had failed in protecting a child, one he thought he could raise to save from his demons._ _

__

__Bruce didn’t want to ever feel the pressure of being too late again, and he knew that Jason’s death had nearly destroyed him. If Damian died… if Bruce was too late to protect his own _son_... then it would destroy him. Completely and utterly. And this time, there would be no other Robin to fill the gap Damian would have caused._ _

__

__No one would be able to save Bruce from himself if Damian died._ _

__

__Therefore, Damian wouldn’t die._ _

__Bruce wouldn’t allow it._ _


	3. Birdsong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Birdsong plays, Bruce is emotionally constipated, and we say hello to Goliath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is the rewrite of Chapter 3. I posted the original one some time ago, and after realizing just how absolutely horrible it was, rewrote it immediately. Damian was out of character, and Bruce even more so, the dialogue was crap, and my writing just went out the window and down the side of a cliff.  
> This is my apology for that atrocity.

This morning, it began at precisely 5:30am. A high voice, thick with emotion began the soon-to-be beautiful melody. The Winged of Gotham were quiet, allowing her the space to Sing as she wished. She Sang of mourning, of a loved one dying and being buried the next day. She Sang of grave acceptance, and the torment of loss. As she sang higher and higher, her voice nearly breaking on her tears, slowly, the Winged began to join her, bringing in a beautiful, united front on her pain. The second voice to join her followed her tune exactly, but at a lower pitch. Male. The third was another female, who sang slightly lower than the first, and soon, the inhabitants of Arkham joined in and Sang along with her. Their voices cracked and broke with every change in tune, and the Winged found themselves Singing louder and more encouraging, as they shared the similar pain. No words were exchanged, just notes held for different lengths, different sounds blending together, but at the same time, contrasting. The notes moved higher, until the whole Winged community, minus a few Winged who were in hiding, was singing at the same pitch, in one united front. Then, they all fell silent. Exactly as dawn broke from the sky, the sun shining down from it’s perch on the horizon, a new cry sounded. It was beautiful, and _new_. The whole of Gotham held it’s breath as the newborn Winged participated in her first Birdsong. She sang alone for only a few moments, as the Winged of Gotham analyzed the patterns in her voice. As a whole, an entire entity, all of them joined her. Each singing different pitches, yet the same tune, the music carrying swiftly over the city and rousing people from sleep. As dawn rose, the Winged celebrated the coming of a new day, mourned with those who were grieving, and cried for the newborn’s lack of freedom within Gotham. The Birdsong continued, some dropping out of the Song as the sun rose higher, until it was at it’s peak. The last few stragglers were most likely from Arkham, as Singing at the Birdsong was an easy way to get caught being a-

 **No.** A pained, desperate, fearful cry pierced through the morning as a Winged shrieked, having been discovered. The whole Winged community cried, screaming in outrage and betrayal, sadness and pain, and the promise of revenge as the Winged screamed, man touching his wings and invading his privacy. There were no walls, the Winged could feel his pain and it _burned_ , burned like the flame they were all forced under when they could not fly freely among the skies due to the chance of getting shot down. They all felt that familiar burning behind their eyes, but there were always two types of “burnings”. One, the feeling you get right before tears are released. That sort of burning makes your throat clench, your hands roll into fists, and your wings curl around you as you try to hide your pain. That sort of burning comes from behind the eyes, and is a slick, acidic sensation. Two, the burning that comes from your heart. When you connect with someone, and see them shot down, when you feel their pain and can empathize because you have _been there_ and _done that_ , you’ve _felt that pain_ and you _survived_ but you know they might not. That sort of burning comes not from tears, but from your heart. The rage, the protectiveness, and the compassion burn traces in your veins, through your body and leave lasting marks for all to see. The fire will race through your blood, infect your lungs, cause the world to tunnel, and your vision to redden. It will race at speeds that are not possible for humans nor Winged. That sort of righteous fury will burn behind your eyes, but it will not physically hurt. That sort of pain is a fire, a flame that will never die as long as this injustice goes on. It is a type of comfort to those whom must be protected, and a fear that applies to every human. To see the flames behind a Winged’s eyes is a promise of death, for you have crossed a line few dare to. There weren’t many of them in Gotham, but the small number was enough to cause enough damage for Gotham to have to be evacuated. The last time something like that had happened, a small Winged child, a student of the Gotham Academy’s kindergarten class, accidentally let her wings out while at school and was shot by her teacher. The Winged were **furious** , and ripped the woman to shreds before laying waste to the entire city. Every single Arkham inmate broke out and caused mass chaos and killings, and citizens were evacuated from the city to avoid the rampage. Needless to say, Winged children are not killed on sight anymore. Children were precious. So when one was mistreated, the entire community would fight to the bitter end to protect it.

Damian sat, staring out his window once more. He was still in his pajamas, and blinking softly as the wind caressed his face gently. He leaned softly into the touch, sighing as the wind seemed to ask him why he hadn’t partaken in the Birdsong. He said nothing, did not answer her question, but she was okay with that. The wind was considered the first Winged, and from her drafts, true Winged were born. She was the pillar on which they flew, the breeze between their wings that allowed them to soar. She was so much more than a simple breeze, and she loved her children, the Winged, as much as they loved her. Damian thought of her almost like a mother. She was there in ways his own was absent, and she mourned with him constantly over a childhood ripped up and trampled on. Damian softly turned towards the bathroom door and slipped the silky pajamas over his shoulders. He bit back a soft noise as the silk slid over his tattoos, the shirt coming off easily. Muscle rippled powerfully behind scarred skin, making noticeable dents on his person. It bulged, especially in his biceps, pectorals, and abdominal muscles. He was sporting an eight pack, despite being only nine years old. The boy - he was not a child, he merely looked like one - stood tall as his tattoos seemingly came to life, bursting into motion onto his back. He walked into the bathroom and hung a towel on the shower rack. He stepped into the cool, beige tiled floor of the shower and turned the water on. As steam rose from the jet above his head, Damian stood underneath the spray and allowed it to flatten his hair. It dripped down his dark spikes, onto his cheeks and down his chin. The water wasn’t tears this time, as he had another small river running right past his left ear. He could feel the water leaving his body as the jet beat down on him. Damian stood silent for a few moment, revelling in the relaxing feeling before demanding to himself that he stop wasting water. He grabbed his shampoo and quickly scrubbed it into his hair. As that washed out, he grabbed one of the bottles of body wash and began applying it to himself. While the soap was out of his hair, he helped the water rinse suds off of his body before turning the water off and shutting the shower door behind him as he exited. He looked boredly around at the white marble countertop, with three oak cabinets above it. On the countertop was a sink, while the jacuzzi bathtub was in the left corner of the bathroom. He grabbed the fluffy white towel he had set out earlier and quickly dried off, taking care around his back.

He quickly dressed, in a red long sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow and dark denim jeans. His brown boots were downstairs, and was planning on adding them to the outfit. Around his neck hung a silver chain, with a small pendant attached to it. It was hanging in between his pectorals, and shone. It was a five-pointed star, surrounded by a circle, which was surrounded by flames. The al Ghul family crest. The star was the sign of the demon, the circle a symbol of their eternal life, and the flames a symbol of the fire that burned within them, a fire that would consume anything in it’s path. Clasped around his left wrist was a silver watch, which had been a gift from his mother when he was eight. It appeared to be an ordinary, everyday watch, but when a specific button was pressed, a poisonous spike shot out from the middle and had a paralyzing serum within that would inject into a body upon contact. It used to be lethal, but Damian had switched it out after he discovered his father had a severe… distaste, for that sort of action. Damian looked at himself in the mirror, before pulling off his shirt. Today, he couldn’t be more careful. He went to his suitcase, given to him by his mother, and pulled out two long stripes of adhesive designed to look exactly like the bronze colour of his skin. He taped both pieces onto his back, effectively covering the wing tattoos. The adhesive, once on, felt like real skin. It was designed in the way so that no one could see the tattoos and identify Damian as a Winged, even if they touched them. Damian had found that if he activated his Winged ability, the adhesive would come off, burned from the power flowing from Damian’s wings. As soon as the boy had made sure that the tattoos were completely covered, he put his shirt back on and rolled up the sleeves once more. Damian looked himself in the eye in the mirror and internally sighed. The Winged needed to have their wings out - locking them away was crippling. It caused you to feel naked, and exposed. You still needed all the extra nutrients and oxygen, but you weren’t _using_ it. Damian’s skin, once a healthy bronze, seemed faded and dull in comparison. Pennyworth had once mentioned that perhaps Damian was not used to Gotham’s cooler and rainier climate, and Damian was sticking with that. There were bags under his eyes, and his whole face just seemed to droop.

Damian could feel a heavy stone in his gut, weighing him down. His throat felt tense as well, and the look in his eyes spoke volumes, as if he were preparing for a fight. In a way, he was. Today was the day where Grayson, Drake, and his Father were supposed to school him on the Winged. Obviously, there was nothing he didn’t know… but according to the texts he had read about Winged, a lot of the information was warped to seem as if the Winged really were deadly beasts. Damian sighed, and looked out his window, the wind ruffling his hair in an attempt to soothe. He had not participated in this morning’s Birdsong. He hadn’t since he had come to Gotham, but it was getting harder and harder not to call out with the others. When the first Winged had sung about her grief, Damian had wanted, _desperately wanted_ , to share his own grief of being forced to conceal himself. He wished to sing of his problems, and allow the other Winged to take comfort in that she was not alone. Every day, the temptation to sing was getting harder and harder to resist. One day, Damian was sure he wouldn’t be able to, and would eventually just sing with his kind. However, it would be simple for him to be discovered if he did that. Grayson could come in, wondering what all the noise was, or Father could have wished to give him a new book recommendation. Or, the most probable, Pennyworth would come in to get him up and dressed or need to clean, or announce breakfast and Daian would be busted. He would get thrown from Gotham, if he were not killed first. Damian sighed as that stone in his belly sunk lower, taking up his conscious thought. He liked it here in Gotham. He missed the beautiful deserts, that went on for as far as you could see. He missed the lush green around bodies of water, surrounded by sand, and he missed the mountains one could sometimes see on the horizon. He missed the smaller towns, homes beige and shaped differently compared to the odd just-square-and-angles of the Western houses. There were villages scattered outside the League's base that were like that. Housing the cannon fodder or less important officials or servants. He missed the large cities, with towering skyscrapers and reflective glass upon every surface. He missed the palm trees, the gorgeous palaces, and the beautiful culture. Most of all, he missed how clear the sky was at night, how one could see every single star. Gotham’s night was merely filled with blackness, rarely a drop of light to be found. He also missed the clean, fresh Saudi air, compared to this polluted mess that Gotham was.

“Master Damian?” Pennyworth knocked on the door while calling, before opening it softly. The butler took his hand off of the doorknob and stood straight, posture absolutely perfect. Damian side-eyed the man, finding no flaws. He was wearing black ironed dress pants, with black dress shoes and a white dress shirt with a black tie. Around his shoulders was a thick butler’s coat, with the buttons done up to the bottom of his ribcage, and the tail of it going down to the back of his knees. The suit was pressed professionally, with white gloves adoring Pennyworth’s hands as the old man trained his light blue gaze upon Damian. Damian raised an eyebrow, not trusting himself to speak at the moment. Pennyworth merely stared coolly at him for a moment before clearing his throat. “Master Bruce has requested your presence in the living room. I believe he wished to test your knowledge of the Winged. I will bring your breakfast to you.” Pennyworth recited, sounding emotionless and his face giving away nothing. Damian nodded and turned his head, a clear dismissal. Pennyworth turned on his heel and left, shutting the door behind him. Damian sighed softly and prepared himself for another day with little food. Today, he’d have to go out and purchase some more. Pennyworth seemed like a decent person, but was all too aware of his status compared to those he served, and was much more… distant. Damian sighed softly, closing his eyes for a moment before schooling his expression into a blank, disinterested one. He swiftly crossed his room, the wind whispering goodbyes as he grabbed the door handle and twisted it, pushing the oak door open. He stepped into the hallway, dark brown carpet underneath his feet and beige walls surrounding him. He began to feel closed in, caged, as many Winged tended to when faced with an unknown situation in some sort of building. The wind was unable to reach him as he was, knowing that if she stirred in his presence she may give him away. Unfortunately, here, the wind knew that her child could not be himself without serious consequences and stayed quiet as her beautiful little bird went willingly into the lair of the bat. He was a broken bird, wings clipped and destroyed at the hands of his biological mother, and unknowingly, his new bat family. Blood scattered across his skin, scars telling a thousand stories with no words, wounds dotting every pore, every cell across him. The wind could see those scars, could hear those stories, and could taste the blood. Only because he was her child, and only because she had cared enough to look.

“You called for me, Father?” Damian asked after entering the living room. Bruce Wayne sat down on one of the large sofas in this living room. This one was mostly formal, three large sofas with black fabric with a diamond pattern where buttons met in the corners of the diamonds. One sofa was facing the wall, the other two diagonally facing the wall, with a small end table between each of the sofas. Large portraits dotted the walls, while flowers bloomed beautifully on the tables. On the wall was a large screen, as if Damian’s Father had intended for a presentation. Bruce nodded, almost hesitant, and gestured towards the sofa beside himself. Damian took a seat elegantly, sitting back against the sofa without one single twitch, despite having the overwhelming urge to get the pressure _off his back and it was crushing his wings and it hurt but he couldn’t say **anything** _ \- Damian stayed at attention, his face a mask of pride and arrogance.

“Uh, yes. I did call you.” Bruce spoke hesitantly. He was never sure how to act around this child, this child that was half of his own flesh and blood. Damian was different from anyone he had ever raised, and even though Bruce had raised children before, he could not even fathom how to speak to Damian. Out of all of his children, Damian was closest to Jason. Jason, when he arrived at the manor, was brash and violent, not understanding of compassion. He was arrogant, but soon mellowed out when he realized he had absolutely nothing to fear from Bruce. Damian knew he had nothing to fear, but was still arrogant. Still lashed out. Was still afraid of kindness, took hugs as attacks, and refused to allow anyone to touch him. When he was scared, he would hide and deal with his emotions himself by locking them up deep inside, a place where no light could reach. A place Bruce couldn’t be in, because Talia and Ra’s ruled it and Damian was merely a toy for them to play with. It hurt Bruce to see his son sometimes, especially knowing that he wasn’t able to speak to Damian and hold the boy close like he wanted to. Bruce had long since decided that maybe acting as he normally did would be best with Damian’s temperament. Bruce squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, staring in his son right in the eyes. His soul internally hurt at the way the boy shifted slightly, eyes boring holes into Bruce’s, and his muscles tensing as if he were preparing for a confrontation.

“I-” Bruce began, only to be cut off.

“Father, if this is nothing important, then I must be going. I have better things to be doing.” Damian said, shortly. He was still tense, eyes still narrowed. If it were Dick or Tim or even _Jason_ , Bruce would have hugged them by now, but the man knew all too well that Damian’s hands were deadly, and had proved themselves to be such before. Bruce opened his mouth to retaliate, to tell Damian what he wanted the boy to hear, but-

“It was nothing important. You can go.” the words slipped out of his mouth before he could give a conscious decision to allow them, and inwardly, Bruce cursed himself violently. His son nodded shortly, before standing up and turning on his heel and leaving, the tension only increasing as he turned his back to Bruce.

 _Does he think I’m going to attack him?_ Bruce wondered sadly, a rock sinking down into his gut. Bruce watched as the door shut soundly behind Damian, and he sighed heavily. He had called Damian over today to maybe talk to the kid, get to know him… see what his favourite movies were, so they could watch them together. What sort of popcorn was his favourite, or did he prefer chips? Bruce wanted to know. His favourite colour, animal, and type of clothing. Bruce was Damian’s _father_ , he should know these things. The fact that he didn’t was horrible, and honestly… Bruce didn’t know if he could do this.

So he allowed Damian to leave. A father would not know his son, and his son would always be wary of his father.

Far away, in the desert of Ad-Dahna in Saudi Arabia, ears perked up and caught some sort of sound. A _goliath_ -like head raised from a bed made of tree leaves, that was in the middle of his enclosure, and turned towards the sound.

His boy needed him.


	4. Bridges we Treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goliath returns, and Damian laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this is as late as it is.  
> ...but I tried? ^-^
> 
> This is shorter, I promise a longer chapter. The action will start in chapter five, and will pick up the plot. Thank you for reading~!

Damian felt him around midday, when the sun was directly above the dreary Gotham, doing nothing to drive the biting, bone deep cold away. Damian had been sitting in his bedroom, at his desk. His maroon hoodie was both large and fleece-lined, keeping some of the cold away. Damian had borrowed one of Pennyworth’s blue coasters and on his desk it sat, a steaming mug of chai tea atop it. The boy had been sketching the Gotham skyline with his window firmly shut to keep the cold air out when he felt it.

 

The tightening of his throat, the pulling in his chest. His tattoo, stretched across his back and shoulder blades, began moving with a fervor that had not occurred before. Energy seemed to flow through every nerve, every vein, until Damian’s entire body was thrumming with power. He could feel his wing tattoo begin to glow, his eyes following suit. Damian stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he walked, steps fast and long to the closed window. He flung the curtains aside, sketch book lying forgotten on the desk. Desperate fingers worked at the lock on the window, nearly ripping it from it’s frame as he struggled to open his one and only way straight outside. Damian hadn’t felt this sort of desperation in a long, long time. During his time at Gotham, he hadn’t been happy, only melancholic. Only sad. But this was a burning fire, seeded deep between his shoulder blades. He could feel the mark, the physical proof of his Bond burning on his right palm. His hand felt aflame, glowing red as it pulsed with an energy long since forgotten. Winged never did well alone. Insanity, insomnia, paranoia, and eventually schizophrenia were all consequences of Winged loneliness. Talia had known this, yet had pushed her son to his last breaking point. Goliath had done so much for Damian, that the boy could only pray he could repay it some day. The boy flung the window open, breath caught in his throat. The Manor was old, with no screens to prevent anyone from flinging themselves from the window. Outside his door, he heard movement, a scaring noise of shuffling feet before there was a patterned knock on his heavy door. Damian’s eyes flickered briefly towards the sound before deciding to ignore it.

 

“Hey, Dami, time to come eat. Alfie made lunch.” it was Grayson. The man was being stubborn, and refusing to leave even when Damian had a foot on the window ledge, ready to hoist himself up. He heard Grayson sigh, murmur a quiet “Guess you’ll meet my new brother” before opening the door himself. He felt, rather than saw, Grayson’s eyes widen as he took in the scene of what must have looked like Damian trying to jump.

 

“Damian!” Grayson screeched, and if the rest of the household wasn’t alerted, they would be now. Footsteps thundered up the stairs, but Damian had never felt freer. The boy leapt off the ledge just as Grayson surged forward, Damian’s hoodie barely scraping the edge of Grayson’s fingers. Damian’s window was high up, enough that this was terminal velocity.

 

He didn’t care, his mind was freed from the musk that once destroyed it, and all that was left was himself. He was free-falling, knowing that any second now he’d be caught and not by human hands. He could hear, through the whistling, dancing wind, that his new guardian and brother were panicking, but he couldn’t care to hear them when the bond reconnected.

 

Their bond wasn’t like fire. It was created out of sweat and blood and tears, so it felt like a wave pulsing along his veins. Something powerful, something so strong, with a depth that none could venture or even begin to imagine. Damian laughed, for the first time in weeks, as he stretched his arms out, grin stretching across his face playfully. There was a roar in the distance, and fur underneath his hands. He smiled, his eyes locking with the bright yellow orbs of his love-friend-light. Goliath licked his face, and Damian only groaned playfully in response. The beast’s wings kept them upright, stroking through the air with strong wingbeats. The wind had sped him here, Damian could feel her presence on his fur. The boy’s joy had never been this evident as he tangled his fingers over and over again in Goliath’s fur, smelling of pine trees and a certain scent that seemed to stick with the red, furry beast everywhere he went. Damian didn’t even realize he was crying until Goliath’s wet nose nudged at his cheeks, large paws coming up to press Damian’s body into Goliath’s furry chest as he rumbled soothingly. Damian choked a happy sob, burying his face in Goliath’s fur as the beast lowered them to the ground. When Damian’s feet finally touched ground, they still didn’t let go, even though they were both aware of all of Damian’s new relatives standing right outside the doors.

 

“Master Damian?” Pennyworth’s voice cut through their moment as Goliath looked up and hugged the boy closer, protectively.

 

“Pwnnworff.” Damian mumbled, face smothered by Goliath’s soft fur. As the boy pulled away, they smiled at each other, the wind flowing around them, but never between them. They could feel their bond reconnecting, Damian’s dark blue soul strand reaching out to hesitantly twirl with Goliath’s deep red one, who sent waves of comfort in response, making sure Damian knew he really was here. The bonds danced, twirled, and glowed together. They were not visible to the human eye, but the Winged eye could pick up these colours that were nearly indescribable, as they were not on the human colour spectrum. Their bond sang, and their souls sang with it, placed together and very broken but mending and if they were together… they were okay.

 

“...Dami.” Grayson stepped forwards, eyes pleading, and Damian pulled away from Goliath, and twisted in his furry friend’s grip. The claws merely shifted to accommodate him, but refused to let go. “What… what is that?”

 

“He is not a that, Grayson.” Damian’s voice was gentle, gentler than it had ever been all the time that Damian had known them. “His name is Goliath. He was a… gift. From mother. When I was younger. He has been my companion since. We have travelled long and hard together.” Damian reached a hand up, and instead of meeting with soft fur, he was met with the wet squishiness of Goliath’s tongue.

 

“Ewwwwwwww….” Damian complained, loudly, as Goliath turned the boy in his arms and swiped his tongue all the way up him. Damian looked less than impressed, slobber dripping from his chin and his hair slicked up messily. The boy facepalmed, and Goliath rumbled playfully, making Grayson jump as Damian was let go. The boy grinned, knowing this game and sent a wink towards Grayson. If his brother hadn’t fainted yet, he assumed the man was going to soon. With a great whoop, Damian took off running. Running was sort of like flying, but with your legs. He and Goliath used to play this game all the time when he was younger. Damian would run and Goliath would chase. They would go back and forth, going into the air and hiding among trees and looming mountains that made up Saudi Arabia, just past the League's main villages. When Goliath caught him, they always sparred for a while before returning home. He heard Goliath’s heavy footsteps behind him, thundering on the ground. He heard his father make a very undignified yelp, but Goliath was upon him in moments.

 

Goliath lunged and Damian barrel-rolled out of the way, their combined amusement making this more fun for both parties. The beast lunged again and Damian jumped, landing on Goliath’s head with perfect grace, the beast tipping his head in response. Damian tumbled down Goliath’s back in a somersault, with perfect form, coming to a stop between Goliath’s shoulder blades. The beast shook, and flicked his head, gesturing for Damian to hurry up. The boy did so, laughing gleefully, and clambered around, hooking his legs around Goliath’s shoulders as far as he could go. Suddenly, the beast stopped and Damian looked over, seeing Grayson determinedly hoisting himself up. At Damian’s half-glare, Grayson shrugged noncommittally.

 

“What?” he asked, guiltless. “I saw the wings on this guy, and I’ve watched more movies than you can count, Dami. And in every movie, the kid always flies off with the beast, leaving his poor big brother behind.” Grayson settled behind Damian, grinning in that idiotic way of his. “If you’re going, I’m going too!”

 

“Alright.” Damian shrugged, before placing a tiny hand against Goliath’s back. He could both see and feel his own hand there, as well as feel from Goliath’s perspective.

 

“Goliath. Fly.”

 

The beast obeyed, and Damian felt Goliath’s muscles tense underneath him as the beast lifted into the air.


	5. The Price of Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first action scene, kicking off the plot!

Dick was confused, to say the least. He glanced down at the small boy in front of him, who was lying completely relaxed on Goliath, and sighed softly. Damian was so small compared to Goliath, who was easily six times the boy’s size. Damian had always seemed small to Dick. Jason and Tim treated him like an adult, a person they could get angry with and fight. Dick saw a child, something completely different from his successors. Damian was small, and tiny, and short, with a shock of black hair and naturally tanned skin. He had bright blue eyes, and he seemed to like submerging himself in things bigger than himself, like his enormous hoodie collection. Almost like he wanted big, warm things. Sort of how children hold onto an object for comfort. Little did Damian know that Dick would give him as many hugs as he wanted, as often as he wanted. The man sighed and continued observing the child, noting the gentle look upon his face. It transformed his face from something resembling a grumpy pug after running into a glass door to a child. Yeah, a child who was grown up beyond his years, but still a ten-year-old boy who liked warm, big hoodies.

What Dick would never admit was he had been secretly putting in large hoodies into Damian’s closet that used to belong to all of them - Jason, Tim, and even Bruce all had hoodies in there… without their knowledge.

Or consent.

But they weren’t using them, so it was okay! Dick grinned slightly, thinking of the maroon hoodie Damian loved. It had been Jason’s, passed down from Bruce to Dick and then Dick to Jason. Jason had never given it to Tim, however, due to the whole ‘blown-up-and-resurrected’ thing. Which, Dick always did his best to pretend didn’t actually happen. Dick’s smile fell, and he glanced down to the beast he was currently sitting on. He had been flying like his before, just on machines and not a living breathing animal. Anxiety and trepidation rose in his throat, burning his vocal chords to force him to be unable to ask the questions he wanted to. How had Damian even met Goliath? The beast looked like nothing Dick had ever seen on Earth, although, it resembled a species Dick had seen on another planet, when the Justice League had been deployed on a mission and Dick had gone with them just for fun. And there, those beasts were dangerous and deadly, and seemed to take a special dislike for humans anywhere near them. They were enormous and furry, with large, sharpened teeth and claws. When Dick had seen Goliath pressing his paws into Damian’s lower back, he had been very confused. Also… there had been a flash of a strange marking on the palm of Damian’s right hand. It was bright red and glowing, and Dick had only seen it for a moment before it disappeared. The same marking, appearing on Goliath’s nose, was a dark blue. Both had disappeared, and Dick couldn’t fathom what they were. Had he been a normal person, he would have worried about his eyes playing tricks on him. But he knew he wasn’t seeing things… and they didn’t know Damian well.

The only option to this oddity that Dick had thought of - when he was fighting a Winged a few months back, he had seen that same mark upon the person’s wrist, only gold. A wolf, snarling and fighting beside her, had had the same mark, just in pink. Dick had researched and researched, but found nothing. So if that was the truth, Dick opened his mouth to ask the question, a bad feeling settling in his stomach-

When the first explosion went off. There was a cackle, a hiss, and then screams as one of the towers of Gotham shattered and exploded. Dick’s eyes widened as bits and pieces of people flew out of the building, fire consuming the floors. His eyes narrowed as Damian sat up. There was no communication between them, yet Goliath followed the suggested course of action. Dick filed that information away for later as he leapt off of Goliath, heading straight for the burning building and helping pulling people out. The building was twenty stories high, and they were on the fifth floor.

“We have to get the people up top out!” Dick yelled.

“On it!” Dick watched, horror rising in his face as the little boy he was trying to protect crouched on Goliath’s back, as if he had done it a thousand times. The monster took off, wings straining to gain as much altitude as possible. Dick reached a hand out towards the child, trying to stop him, but Damian was already gone. Dick swallowed his nerves. [em]Damian’s fine. He’s a smart kid, and used to these situations… I think? He’ll be okay. It’ll just be fine. Just focus on getting these people out.[/em] Dick nodded to himself and began pulling people out. He was clutching onto the windowsill, his feet having found a frame to balance on. Evidently, someone had been cleaning windows, so there was a large construction machine that held a platform and went up or down. Dick put the people he rescued on the platform, telling them to stay put while he grabbed more people. He stuck his head into the office building and, without his being used to these scenes, he would have puked. There were body parts strewn around, small fires starting and shattered glass everywhere. He didn’t see any more live people, so after gently responding to all of the hystericals thanks from the people he saved, he hit a random button that, thankfully, started to slowly bring them down. As soon as they were close enough, he let the people out of the contraption and looked up. Dick’s eyes could not have gotten any wider if he tried.

He already lost one brother, but here another one was.

Dick felt his stomach tighten, fear making his vision got seemingly white, tunneling on the small child with his throat gripped in a Winged’s hand. He wasn’t struggling. He wasn’t struggling. He… Dick snapped, screamed out desperately. His fear caused his heart to beat faster, the butterflies in his stomach turning to waves that crashed against his windpipe, cutting off his air and causing him to choke on his own words. He gasped in air, feeling none of the oxygen filling his system. He could barely see through the static, the horrible, awful, sound of his own heart as he watched another little kid die. He might not have known Damian for long, but he could tell the child had potential for good. With a snarl, Dick tried to futilely launch himself up towards the child, but it wasn’t working. He was grabbed by the firemen who had finally arrived.

Someone was screaming and it sounded like him.

People were telling him to calm down, to breathe and that it was okay, but it wasn’t, because another child was going to be killed and it was all Dick’s fault for not stopping him-

There were tears on his face.

DamianwasgoingtodieDamianwasgoingtodieDamianwasgoingtodie-

And he hyperventilated himself to darkness.

\---

Damian hadn’t meant to get stuck like this. He had gone up there with the intent of saving people, and save people he did. He had clenched his fist and gone on, no matter the bodies and fires burning around him. Besides, Damian was used to both. So used, that he did not bat an eye. Phantom burns that ached from scars haunted him, and he shut out the memories of chains and a whip and that branding iron-

[em]Dami?.[/em] a voice sounded his head that was not his own, that came with waves of comfort and love. Damian had pulled the closest people out of the building and onto Goliath, who was bringing them all down. Damian hummed in response, refusing to hide from Goliath. He sent his memories, and Goliath swept them away easily and sent waves of comfort, protection, and love. He purred promises of never going back, and no words were required between them. Everything was going okay… until it wasn’t.

Someone crashed into him, sending him sprawling. He sent reassurance down the bond, trying to tell Goliath that he’d be fine, but the beast was panicking. Damian kicked out blindly, smoke causing him to cough violently, almost damaging a lung. He wheezed in desperately, his foot not coming in contact. He had flipped around and was trying to see where this enemy was. He felt heat searing his skin, and then pain as hands grabbed him. He fought blindly, getting in a few pressure points, but balked when he realized that this was no ordinary human. His struggles increased, legs and arms flailing about wildly in an attempt to get away. He clenched his teeth and snarled, but was ultimately unprepared for the hand wrapping around his throat. The foreign Winged was coughing lightly, but he hadn’t been there as long as Damian.

Damian cussed to himself as the Winged tightened his grip, stepping out precariously out into the open, Damian dangling from his grip. The wind reassured him, brushed up against him, but curled around his attacker. Damian understood. She could only be neutral, and try to catch him when he fell. Damian was not afraid of the height.

He had fallen off higher.

The Winged stepped out further into the ledge, the hold tightening. With a burst of panic, Damian realized that this Winged didn’t intend to drop him - he intended to drop his dead body. He let his arms fall, forcing his body to relax. He could see the camera crew in a helicopter above him - it was way too risky to assume that he could show even a bit of his true nature. And even then, he’d have to answer questions of why he backed off without prompting. He forced his eyes to roll back and his breathing to stop.

He considered him briefly, and he could feel his gaze striking through him and assessing if he was really dead. He shrugged before the hold on his throat loosened, and he fell through his fingers. Damian smiled to himself, feeling the way the wind tugged on him, tousling the Winged above them as well. Seeing the wind dance in an unfamiliar pattern caused the Winged’s eyes to widen as he watched him fall. He backed away and thrust his powerful, white and gold wings away from the ground, a singular feather speeding up towards Damian.

He knew what it meant.

It was both an apology and admiration. He had managed to stay hidden for this long. He respected that. He reached out and gently touched the feather, feeling his fading presence in it. He felt his pain and winced, knowing he had just been shot down. Tears dripped off his face, the wind brushing them and howling in anguish along with him. As he fell, he spied his reflection along the glass windows. He took a deep breath.

He knew he was fine.

And just like that, Goliath was underneath him. He flipped himself over, burying his face in Goliath’s fur and crushing the feather between them.

Goliath had been the one to teach Damian how to fly.

And no matter what, he had never let the boy fall.

“Goliath.” Damian murmured as the beast slowly came down to the ground, paramedics rushing in around them. “I will end this war. No matter what.”


	6. Under the Surface (i thought i was ready)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The action picks up, Damian finds his people, and the Wind has had enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to start this off by saying how sorry I am. See, I had school and work and I'm pretty lazy - plus I wrote this chapter in class, on paper, lost it, and then was too mad to rewrite it. So yeah. Excuses, excuses, I know, but I'm sorry! I promise to get on a more reliable update schedule. I will probably end up writing these chapters in class - the amount of nothing I do in religion, the amount of not paying attention and the amount of not caring I do in civics will probably pop out some chapters. Sorry again, and thanks for reading!

When Dick passed out, he didn’t exactly expect to wake up where he was. He didn’t think he’d pass out at all, but-

Seemed that his PTSD was still around. Sick sighed softly, running his hand through the silky sheets of his hospital bed. He was propped up slightly with pillows, the beeping of the heart monitor beside him. He guessed that he had half-assumed that Bruce would have come for him and Damian, explaining the feeling of slight crushed disappointment. He had almost assumed that he’d wake up in the Bat Cave to Alfred’s fussing and Bruce’s refusal to leave his side even though he was pretending to be working. He had assumed that he’d have woken up to someone.

Maybe Bruce was busy.

As Dick made to sit up, find some water, Koriand'r walked in. Her eyes lit up and her smile widened. She was excited enough that she began to float, going towards him and reaching out with her hands. Dick smiled and let his own arms extend to allow Kori the hug she had silently asked for. She was wearing a dark purple sweater, one that Dick remembered buying her on one of their shopping trips. She had on a pair of tight dark denim jeans, along with a pair of fluffy black boots that were in style right now. Her hair was left alone,. Cascading down her back in an otherworld appearance. Little did the rest of the population know, she really was an alien from another planet. Dick sighed happily and snuggled into her unnatural warmth.

She made Dick happy. She was full of warmth - a fire that burned forever. When she was angry, her hair and eyes lit up with her fury, when she was content, she expressed love and let out the warmth of a small flame, and when she was protective, that fire could burn. She made him warm, and sometimes her comforting presence was what talked Dick down from a panic attack

“When we were video chatting,” she began, pulling away slightly. “You were going to introduce me to your little brother. When I saw him jump out of a window and you threw the device allowing us to video chat,” her glare became scathing and all Dick could do was rub the back of his head nervously. “I flew over. I arrived just as paramedics were loading you into the ambulance.” she said. Dick nodded, and Kori leaned him back down against the pillows and blankets.

“Thanks, Kori.” Dick said as the Tamaranian handed him a plastic cup of water. She smiled in response, but judging by the gentle smile on Dick’s own face and the fluttering in his heart, having her there was more than enough to dull the pain. After all, like Goliath, Kori could fly. Dami had Goliath.

Dick had Kori.

~

Damian knew the doctor, an elderly lady, had been watching him for some time. Knew that Damian had been unconscious when the adrenaline faded in the ambulance. Knew that he had no idea what types of tests had gone on. It would take a heavily trained professional, after all, but it was possible. An ignorant may not even notice the grafted skin patches upon his back. What if she had seen, what if anything had been revealed to her, a lady he didn’t know-

“We know.” the doctor sighed heavily and Damian fought to keep his breathing steady and his heart rate from accelerating. “Or, at least, I know.” he heard the doctor get up, and there was an old, wrinkled hand pushing his bangs away from his face. The touch was gentle. Why?

“And I want you to know that it’s okay.”

What.

“It’s okay. I’ve read the articles about you - they say that you’re Bruce Wayne’s biological son from an affair he had in another country. People believe that you’re from Saudi Arabia, and then it got confirmed.  Foreign mannerisms would help hide your secret.”

Damian was torn between anxious confusion and full blown panic. This lady had found out his secret, she knew who he was, she hadn’t given him away, but what, what did she think to gain from-

“Our secret.”

And his panic stilled.

“It isn’t just your secret. I moved to Gotham before there was a ban on the Winged. I wanted to become a doctor. Luckily, a friend had the foresight to tell my family that tensions were running high between the human and the Winged. My parents decided to keep our existence a secret, and when this whole mess blew up, we kept our lives. I’m like you, Damian.”

Damian opened his eyes.

“Mockingbird.” he murmured.

“Flamingo.”

Damian had to stifle a giggle at that, appraising the elderly lady in front of him. She was wearing a bright pink shirt under her doctor’s coat which Damian found absolutely hilarious considering the circumstances. Her stethoscope was wrapped loosely around her neck, and she was smiling brightly at him. The nametag on her left side read “Leslie Thompkins”.

She couldn’t believe there was still a child willing to laugh and smile that she had not helped. He reminded her of her own wards.

“Damian,” she spoke, gaining his attention. “My name is Leslie, and I run an orphanage for kids like you. A shelter for people like us.” she reached into her pocket and pressed a card into his hand. “Close your eyes.” she said, and Damian listened. He trusted her. The Wind was soothing, encouraging their interaction. The card was small, it fit within Damian’s hand. He closed his palm around it when Leslie closed it for him, holding his hand between both of her's. “The address is unlocked by what fills the space between feathers.” she murmured. The wind swirled around in amusement at the nickname while both Winged smiled in response. Leslie seemed a lot like Pennyworth, Damian realized. With long grey hair pulled into a bun with a few strands of hair escaping and framing her face. She had on thin gasses, and the wrinkles on her face were from smiling and simply age. He nodded, picturing the orphanage. There would be Winged children there. Maybe some his age.

“I have a warning.” Leslie’s voice shook, and Daian tried to open his eyes to ask her why, what was going on. “No, don’t.” she said, placing her hand gently on his eyes, keeping his eyelids shut. Her hands were shaking, too.

“A storm is coming to Gotham. The wind is only fragmented around the world, complacent and not conscious enough to truly stir. But she has seen the suffering in Gotham.” Damian’s breath caught at Leslie’s words. “She is furious with the city. We have only three options; run from the storm and abandon the city and it’s people to it’s face, stay and try to dissuade her by shoving her the good here, or stay silent and in Gotham and pray we do not get caught up in it. A storm is coming to Gotham, Damian. We have only one chance to change it. Do whatever you feel is best. We will not judge. All I ask of you is to come by the orphanage. It’ll be good for you. We have food and tricks for hiding in plain sight. Some of our volunteers - and some of them are human, they know and are helping us - they have created different powders and shakes that will supply you with the food and nutrients you need. We can help you, Damian. Whenever you have the time… come see us. We’d love to have you here with us.” Damian could almost feel Leslie’s smile as she said this, her hand stilling. He nodded, the gentle pressure on his eyes providing a sort of comfort. He heard footsteps down the hallway and Leslie pulled away.

“Is he awake?” it was his father. “Dick is asking for his condition.”

“He’s fine. There’s a slight bruising on his neck, but no internal damage. He’s had a bit of smoke damage through his lungs, but nothing severe. No exertion for a few days, and I would suggest that you keep an oxygen mask or inhaler by at all times. Very little damage considering how dangerous that situation was. Your son is a hero.” Leslie said. He heard her shuffle some papers around. “I’ll need you to sign these papers please, Mr. Wayne. As an extra caution, your son may be called on by the police to give testimony.”

“Alright.” he heard Bruce sigh, taking the papers and signing them. Damian looked asleep - actually asleep. Not half alert and waiting to be attacked. He looked like he felt safe, his eyebrows relaxed and his lips in a soft smile, like he was having a good dream. The sheets were tucked around his waist, the light colour bringing out the darkened colour of his skin even more. His lack of a frown made his cheeks look wider, almost like a little baby.

But Damian was a baby. A little kid.

Who held about as much darkness as Bruce himself, and looked so much like Talia that it was terrifying…

“Is everything alright, Mr. Wayne?” the doctor interrupted, and Bruce looked over at her before handing over the papers.

“Yes.” Bruce sighed. “When he wakes up, are we able to take him home?”

“You are, Mr. Wayne.” the doctor made to leave, but paused, looking back at him. “Just… give him a chance, Mr. Wayne.” she said, giving him an all-knowing look reminiscent of Alfred. “You may not be a fool at all, but playing the fool is a dangerous game.” with that, she left the room.

Bruce watched her go, an eyebrow raised. What exactly had she meant, about him playing the fool? What was she referring to? What did this have to do with Damian? Bruce sighed heavily again, looking over at his son. Truthfully, he didn’t know what to think of Damian. In Bruce’s opinion, Damian was the true middle ground between the house of the Bat and the Demon’s Head, between Wayne and al Ghul. Whether Damian realized it or not… he had Bruce’s eyes, but Talia reigned in Damian’s face. He had her high cheekbones, her chin, her ears, and her darkened, browned skin. But his eye shape mimicked Bruce’s mother’s, giving him a gentle and considerate look, that was completely ruined when he frowned. Damian's mouth and now he made expressions… that was all foreign to Bruce. Perhaps the traits that once belonged to Ra’s wife. Girlfriend. Mistress. Lover. Whatever. Damian acted like an al Ghul. Full of pride and arrogance.

Raised to rule the world.

Bruce knew that with some years, Damian probably could.

Bruce saw Talia in Damian. And if he was honest, that scared him.

Bruce narrowed his eyes. This child was potentially very dangerous. He couldn’t let that go. Bruce turned on his heel and left the room. He should go check on Dick before the alien decided to grab him and cart him off to who-knows-where

Bruce paused in the doorway.

“Damian, I’ll hunt down the Winged that did this. That’s a promise.

From behind him, the Wind spun, ripping through the curtains and sending the papers everywhere.

She would make sure Bruce never made good on that promise.

Her consciousness was stirring.


	7. Taking Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim makes a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this? An actual, regular update not months after the last one? Don't gasp too loud people, you might alert my teachers that I'm writing this in their class. XP

The wind swirled.

And swirled.

Windows shattered.

Footsteps began racing towards the room but she stopped them, slamming doors. This city couldn’t be saved. Her children weren’t safe here. Here they were hurt. Here they were damaged. Here they couldn’t escape. Other cities, Star City, Metropolis, they did not hurt their Winged as Gotham did. Gotham was corrupt. Gotham was evil. Gotham needed to die, starting with Batman. Bruce Wayne. They were one and the same. How dare he, hurt her child. How dare he condemn was Damian was. How dare anyone. She would raze this city to the ground. She would save her children.

The winds whipped around the building, her consciousness stirring. Cracks appeared in the foundation, the remaining windows shattering. Cracks ran up the building, bricks falling and the hospital shaking. Alarms blared, ordering an emergency evacuation. The Wind realized something. Her child, Damian, was still in the building, sleepy and dazed. He would most likely not escape without damage. So she created a gap. She had a spinning wall of air surrounding the hospital, debris being thrown at the pedestrians outside. She threw her consciousness against the winds swirling, giving the appearance of a tornado. She created a gap. She gave him time.

And just as she had predicted, he took that opportunity. Tim Drake - the current Robin to Bruce’s Batman. In a blur of red, green, and yellow, he darted between the gaps and started running for the stairs. She kept them from crumbling while under his feet. She watched him burst into Damian’s room.

And waited.

“Shit.” Tim cursed. He lunged for the bed, not stopping to wonder why this room seemed intact. It didn’t matter in the moment, not when Damian was lying in a bed after passing out, who had only begun to sit up and get up. Bruises and faint burn marks covered his body, purple splashes in the shape of fingerprints on his throat. Tim might not have liked Damian much, but he refused to leave the boy here to die.

The room’s white walls were clean, spotless, the lilac curtains flying wildly throughout the room due to the sheer force of the wind outside. The glass window was sattered, small pieces scattered across the tiled floor. Damian had just tried putting weight on a bandaged leg when Tim lunged for him, knocking the boy’s centre of gravity into Tim’s chest. Quick as could be, Tim’s arm was supporting the underside of Damian’s knees while his other arm curled around Damian’s shoulders, pressing the younger boy’s head into Tim’s chest. Damian’s eyes were wide, and as predicted, he started struggling.

“Stop it.” Tim snapped, feeling the annoyance rise up like a fiery tsunami. “You’re injured, on painkillers, and slow. A liability. We will get out faster if you just stop and let me carry you.” Tim looked down at the dark skinned boy in his arms, sighed, and then began running.

Began calculating.

This room was exactly the same as Tim believe it to be - six meters wide and eight meters long. If he jumped from the bed, it wouldn’t give him enough propulsion. His gaze flickered over to the night table - would it hold his weight, give him the altitude to clear the window, could he avoid the objects - yes yes yes. Tim jumped, his right leg placing itself squarely on the night table, muscles contracting under the strain as he forced himself upwards. He launched himself towards the open window, a grapple in hand as he simultaneously brought his legs up and to his chest as he cleared the window. At the height of the leap, he launched the grapply, it getting caught in the building opposite to the hospital.

Tim kept his momentum, the grapple pulling tight. He had Damian cradled in his right arm, his pelvis thrust forward to support Damian’s lower body as his left was extended out with the grapple locked on. He landed smoothly on the opposite side of the roof, placed the grapple back into his utility belt, and hefted Damian up.

Damian screeched, cutting himself off mid-scream, biting his lip. It scared the crap out of Tim, who looked down to see why Damian was in pain like this. His medical report indicated that Damian had minor burns, nothing to this extent. Tim placed Damian down, ignored the boy’s whimpers, and eased his shirt off.

Then Tim stared.

And stared.

And stared.

Because there were two living, breathing, moving tattoos placed right on Damian’s shoulder blades. They were massive, almost extending down to his hips. Tim reached out with a gloved hand, and as soon as he came into contact with the tattoos, images began flooding his brain. A young Damian, smiling, shaking, mumbling to himself, his body mostly covered by a pair of grey wings with a white stripe in the middle. They were downy, soft, not yet ready for flight, and Tim could feel through Damian that he felt the same. He saw Talia’s horrified face, he saw her trying to pry Damian’s hands from his hair, he saw her bring him something to believe in - something to love - something to be protected by, he watched the red little ball of fluff win Damian’s heart, he watched Talia step back and allow the majority of her son’s love to be given to this small creature who Damian named Goliath because he believed that the creature would grow to fly mountains-

Tim’s hand pulled away like it had been burned. His heart was pounding, sweat shone on his brow, and he was breathing heavily. Damian was a Winged.

Tim’s blood ran cold.

Mockingbird wings.

No two wings were the same.

“Robin?”

At the sound of Kon’s voice, Tim whipped around. He glanced back down, noting that Damian had passed out. He stood, mind running a million miles an hour as he paced. “Kon, remember how that Winged saved me? Mockingbird wings. I’ve see so many Winged, Kon, no two wings were the same. The Gotham baddies say the same sort of things, like ‘There’s no one else like me’ and the like. Damian’s a Winged, Kon.” Tim hissed, spinning on his heel and staring at the boy on the ground. “He’s a Winged and he has mockingbird wings. I don’t know how, but those tattoos on his back have kept the actual wings hidden.” as Tim spoke the tattoos stretched out, almost as if they were trying to cover the body beneath them. “But he kept it secret from me, from everyone, not even Bruce knows! We looked for the Winged gene, it said he didn’t have one!”

“Calm down.” Kon floated closer, landing on the roof and lightly gripping Tim’s biceps. “I have an idea. Maybe the Winged gene wasn’t there because you were looking for evidence of it in a human. You were looking at a Winged’s genetic makeup. He wouldn’t have had a Winged-carrying gene because those only go to humans who could potentially have a Winged child.”

“Oh, Kon, you’re totally right. And by us only isolating for one gene, we didn’t see the bigger picture.” Tim melted into Kon’s arms, sighing. “But what do we do? If we leave him here, everyone’s going to find out. They’re throw him in Arkham for sure.” Tim looked down at Damian. His voice was steady, calm. His nerves betrayed that calm, his heart rate slowing down but still going. “Kon, grab him and get to the Tower as fast as possible. He saved my life, I’m saving his.”

“Tim, are you-”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

Tim and Kon stared each other down, the silent conversation soon turning both to Robin and Superboy. Superboy nodded, picking up and cradling the unconscious Winged child, taking care to not touch his back. Superboy flew off, leaving Robin behind. Tim sat down heavily, pulling off his mask, and hiding his head in his hands. All his life, and he really meant all of it, he had been told the Winged were bad. Dangerous. Every story book had a princess in a tower, a knight in shining armour, and a Winged keeping the princess locked up. In most games, movies, shows - the bad guys were Winged and the good guys were human, and that’s all there was to it. Tim even fought them, night in and out.

But still. He knew better.

Tim knew every species could be cruel just like every species could be kind. The Winged in Gotham needed help. Tim knew they weren’t really getting it at Arkham. But if Tim was honest with himself… the help that the Arkham inmates needed was to be let go. But the asylum itself drove them insane, and had destroyed any chance they had. Tim knew that.

Tim also knew that Bruce was too consumed in hatred to ever care.

~

The boy was lighter than Kon thought. A quick x-ray scan, and right away Kon could tell that Damian’s bones were hollow. Even though he hadn’t been hurting the kid, Kon loosened his grip anyway, angling the kid to better protect him from the wind. Kon wondered why. Maybe he’d be too heavy to lift off if he did have cartilage? Kon thought. Robin had put him in charge of Damian, and he was determined to do his job. Damian… Tim’s new little brother. A kid born from assassins who Tim distrusted like the best of them. But in an instance where Superboy wasn’t there, Damian had saved Tim.

Damian was Winged. Personally, Kon thought that that should be okay. Hee he and Superman were, aliens stranded on a foreign planet, with powers. Stronger, faster, smarter than a normal human, and with several other abilities to boot. If they were allowed, accepted even, praised here, why were the Winged not? Kon didn’t get it. Not at all.

~

Back on the rooftop, Tim stood. He had to go talk to Bruce, do some damage control. Tim glanced behind him at the giant tornado surrounding the hospital. People were screaming, and Tim knew that saving Damian dammed a lot of the others in there But… for just a second, there had been a break in the tornado, that had led him to Damian's room. He was sure that if he had entered any other room, he would've been killed. But that would imply that this tornado was sentient. Tornadoes weren’t-

NO.

Tim choked, a voice slamming into his skull and depriving him of any thought had had. This being was powerful, otherworldly, deadly. And it wasn’t even fully conscious, Tim could feel the waves of sleep coming off of it.

THE TORNADO IS NOT SENTIENT. BUT I AM.

With that, the monstrosity of nature gave one final, violent twist, and vanished. Just plain freaking vanished. Tim’s mouth fell open. What the actual hell was that? It was just… gone. There was an entire tornado surrounding a hospital and it had just vanished. Tim gave up on life, lying face down and screaming into the roof’s pavement. This was going to be a nightmare.


	8. Hole in the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim figures that Damian's kinda like a wild animal. Hard to approach, but cuddly when trust is gained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, what is this madness? Another update? No way. Unreliable updates, sure, but not spaced by months. ;)

It had been roughly six hours. Tim had tried to do damage control, promised the people that the Teen Titans would look into this, and that Batman and Robin were on it. Bruce watched from where he had been placed, not allowed anywhere near the hospital out-of-cowl. Here, he was just Bruce Wayne, not Batman. After Tim’s impromptu speech, Bruce cornered him, demanded to know where Damian was. Tim had confirmed that he had retrieved Damian from the building, and had sent him off to the Tower for his recovery and for T, and Damian to bond. Bruce, in turn, had told him that Kori flew Dick out of the hospital long before it truly became a problem.

Tim hated using the bonding excuse, but Dick used it all the time, and it always worked. Bruce looked doubtful, but let it go. Tim assured Bruce that he would return Damian when he got sick of the kid, but Bruce walked away with an accepted answer, and a silent promise to not bust down the Tower’s door to find the Demon Brat.

Tim watched him go, before running to his jet and taking off towards the Tower. He was sure that Kon would have safely deposited Damian, and he could only hope with a lump in his throat. A traitorous voice in his head asked him why he was helping a Winged. 

Tim told it to shut up.

Six hours had passed - one on damage control and dealing with Bruce, another five on transportation to the Tower. When Tim arrived, the computer beeped and the sound echoed through the empty hallways. He knew where everyone was. Raven and Beast Boy were out at a festival, today being their day off. Kori was with Dick. Kid Flash had a mission with the Speedsters. Kon and Tim were the only ones here. Jon, Tim, and Damian. Tim walked into the medbay, concern etched on his face. He opened the door, letting himself in as he spied the kryptonian sitting in a chair beside the bed he had clearly laid Damian into. Tim remembered the hours painstakingly teaching the meta how to set up heart monitors, IV kits, how to draw blood. Kon had an oxygen mask on Damian’s face, with a heart monitor and IV full of fluids inserted into his arm all set up. Tim raised an eyebrow at the mask and glanced over at K.

“He looked like he was struggling for breath.” Kon shrugged. Tim nodded, grabbing another chair and sitting down, the twitch in Damian’s right pinky finger giving him away as awake. Kon had Damian propped up on a foam pillow, with silky blue sheets. The medbay was narrow, with twelve beds along the wall, each separated by a curtain. Different machines were scattered around the bed, IVs in a corner, with three defibrillators on the walls.

“I know you’re awake, Damian. I’m sorry for touching your back.” Tim approached him like a wilf animal, who was ready to lash out and run. “We want to help you. It is only Superboy and I her. No one else. Batman, Nightwing, Superman… no one knows but us. I promise. We aren’t going to send you to Arkham. And if somehow you do end up there, I promise you can have my head after we rescue you.”

One blue eye peeked open to glance at him, followed by the other.

“I read,” Tim continued, reaching down to gently touch the boy’s hand. When Damian didn’t flinch, Tim entwined their fingers together, squeezing the boy’s hand slightly. “That Winged have bigger hearts, bigger lungs. They need more oxygen. Do you want us to keep the oxygen mask on?”

Tim received a small nod in response.

“Okay, we’ll keep the oxygen mask on. Are you hungry?” a nod. “Thirsty?” another nod. “Kon, could you go get Damian some food, please? No meat.” Tim requested, pleading with Kon. The meta nodded silently and left for the kitchen. Tim watched Damian inhale and exhale. “I want you to understand,” Tim began. “That I’m not going to tell Batman. Damian, I want to help you.” Tim gave the boy’s hand a reassuring squeeze, Damian’s tiny hand limp in Tim’s own. “You’re Winged. I know that you saved me, and even if you hadn’t, I still would have done this. I can help. I want to help. So does Kon.”

Damian’s left hand went to the oxygen mask, to bring it away from his face, and Tim helped him pull the contraption off. Tim helped Damian sit up some more, allowing his back to be supported by the obscene amount of pillows Kon had piled on and around the bed. 

“Is it more comfortable to have your wings out?” Tim asked. After seeing the panicked look on Damian’s face, Tim quickly backtracked. “I’m in control of the camera systems. They’re all disabled and there are no cameras in the room currently. You can check if you want.”

Damian nodded. “Thank you.” the voice took Tim by surprise - he was usd to Damian sounding arrogant, an undertone of cruelty in every phrase, a slight sarcastic lilt to his voice. Damian’s voice had changed… completely. It was slightly higher, barely accented, and sincere. It caught Tim off guard, if he was to be honest with himself. Damian’s personality, his voice… was it all a ruse for fear they’d find him out? Something struck Tim’s heart, and it was the farthest thing from anger. Damian started holding Tim’s hand back as Tim rubbed comfortingly with his thumb. The skin or Damian’s back from the tattoos started to glow blue, releasing the humerus bone first, quickly followed by the rest of the skeleton wing. Before Tim could comment, skin stitched itself together over the bone, grey and white feathers sprouting from the skin. Within a few moments, his wings were whole.

Damian let them curl up, and stretch. He could feel how his back muscles had degenerated while he was keeping them in tattoo form. Right now, they were too sore to fly, but perhaps in a few days he could begin gliding. It would take weeks for him to be able to take off from the ground.

Tim watched Damian, still holding his little brother’s hand. “Damian,” he spoke, and the nine year old turned to him. “Is there any etiquette I need to know?”

“First, please don’t touch my wings.” Damian murmured, and Tim nodded firmly. “Or my back at all, really. Uh, we don’t really eat meat, uhm.”

“It’s alright.” Tim smiled at him. “Understood on the wings.” just then, Kon walked back in, containers of fruit, bread, vegetables, yogurt, and the scrambled eggs that Kori had pout in the fridge in his arms, along with two jugs full of water and orange jude respectively.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I just brought a lot of it.” Kon explained, hooking his ankle around the leg of the bed beside them to use as a makeshift table. When the food was all settled, Tim passed some over to Damian, and glanced over at Kon as the boy ate.

“Damian…” Kon began hesitantly. “Tim told me that Winged have powers. Do… do you?” Kon asked. Tim grinned at that. His family didn’t know, but Kon and Tim had been dancing around the idea of making their already romantic relationship official. Kon, however, had been worried that the Bats wouldn’t accept him. Tim knew for a fact that Dick and Steph had been shipping “Kim” for months, Jason wouldn’t care, Bruce would object, and Alfred and Damian were unknowns. But Kon wanted to get all of them on their side, so here Kon was the big, strong, clone of Superman himself, trying to get into the good graces of a kid not even half his size with a tendency for sharp things.

Oh, the things Kon would do for Tim. Tim had even caught him doing chores for Alfred.

“Yes.” Damian swallowed his bite of egg-and-toast sandwich that Kon had helped him put together, and went to answer. “I am able to mimic any voice.”

Kon raised an eyebrow. “Batman.”

Damian cleared his throat dramatically, before erupting into “I am the night.” with a low, gravelly voice that sounded exactly like Bruce. Tim couldn’t stop the laugh bubbling up in his throat. He snickered at the voice itself, then erupted into belly-shaking laughter at Kon’s shocked face. When Tim had wiped the tears from his eyes, he noticed that Damian’s eyes were glowing a bright blue.

“Ah.” Tim remarked. “Is that what happens when you use your power?” Damian nodded in response to the question. Tim sobered up, remembering the weird votice in his head earlier that day.

“Hey Damian, do you know what… or who, I guess, created that tornado? It wasn’t natural, not at all. And when I considered the tornado itself being sentient, it talked to me. Said ‘No, but I am.’’

Damian put his sandwich down.

“That is the Wind.” he explained. “The first Winged, the creator of all the drafts that carry our wings. She created us. She loves us. But… one of the doctors at that hospital, she was also Sa Winged. She told me that the Wind wanted to destroy Gotham to make up for all the damaged caused to her children. She’s angry, and her consciousness is stirring.”

Tim nodded, thoughtful. “Any chance of her disregarding that? Leaving the city alone, changing her mind?”

“Minimal, unless Arkham burns, the ban is lifted, and Batman no longer targets us, solely.”

Tim nodded again, glancing at Kon. “This doctor.. Are you able to tell us her name?”

“...I think so. If it doesn’t get out.”

“We’re keeping your secret.” Kon smiled, reminding the boy.

Hesitantly, Damian smiled back. “Her name is Leslie Thompkins. Did she get out of the hospital okay?”

“Yes. She and Dick both escaped - but there were fifteen casualties, all human.” Tim said. “Mostly spectators, but several patients were killed as well. Leslie Thompkins.. I think she’s one of Alfie’s friends. She’s in his contact book.” at the look Kon gave him, Tim shrugged. “What? I like to know these things.”

Kon rolled his eyes at Tim’s antics, smiling slightly as Tim chuckled They made light banter as Damian finished his breakfast, Kon eyeing the boy gently. He had x-rayed the child at least seven times, looking for injuries or sickness. He wanted to help Damian now, and not just because he was Tim’s little brother. Damian… seemed like a nice kid.

Kon had been programmed by CADMUS to know of the Winged and see them as an asset. But Superman, the League, the majority of this world… it wanted him to believe otherwise. They wanted to see the Winged as evil, unjust beings. When Kon had asked Superman why, the man had said the Winged were powerful and dangerous, and the ones that unnecessarily killed humans were to be stopped. Superman had explained that this planet belonged to humans, and that the Winged could be detrimental to peace on the planet. Superman explained that the League interfered in both human and Winged business - he claimed they saved both, but Kon knew that some of the League members would not save the Winged. Kon had seen Superman do it.

Batman was a different story. He was the most anti-Winged of any League member, sending all those he caught to correctional facilities in Gotham to try to force them to become human. It only created insanity, breeding villains. Kon knew that, and he knew that Superman would too. Superman should understand. But he didn’t interfere. Kon didn’t get it, not at all.

Tim was the first to break the silence.

“So,” he said, “Damian, this is just a suggestion, but maybe we could call Alfie? Go to him, get him to call Leslie. We should put him in the loop, he’s going to find out eventually.” Tim chuckled slightly, but soon shut up at Kon’s protective glare, the Kryptonian moving instinctively to cover Damian from Tim’s line of sight. “I mean…” Tim backtracked, cursing himself. “It would help, if Alfie knew. Of course, Damian, if you don’t want to tell him-”

“I’m horrible at this.” Damian groaned. “I’ve only been in Gotham for a few weeks, and already, I’m out to three, soon to be four people.”

Kon chuckled at that. “Do you want to call Alfred, Damian?” Damian nodded in response and went to get up. All of a sudden, both Kryptonian and human were frozen as the boy’s wings flared out to their full wingspan. They were enormous. They fluttered to help with Damian’s balance as he stepped more elegantly than ever before. As soon as he was up, he pulled the frontal bones together at the point, folding his wings up and allowing the longest feathers to drape on the ground. He turned and looked at them both expectantly, smiling softly.

“I can’t really fly on my own yet.” he admitted. “Because of the high demand for nutrients I really haven’t been getting, my body had to get rid of the muscle mass on my back. So at this point, just lifting my wings burns.” there was a sad smile on his face as he said this. Kon and Tim exchanged glances, blinking at each other, unsure of what to say. “Can we call Goliath?” Damian asked, pressing his pointer fingers together.

“Yeah. While you do that, I’ll call and warn Alfred.” Tim said, moving away and grabbing his phone, dialing the number.

“Alfie?”

“Yes, Master Timothy?”

“Can you call a doctor by the name of Leslie Thompkins and then make sure Bruce is out of the manor when we arrived at around six pm?”

“Leslie Thompkins?” Alfred’s voice hinged on sharp and dangerous. “May I ask why, Master Timothy?”

Tim took a breath. “Damian’s a Winged and we need someone who can help him with diet, exercise, and general ways to hide.”

There was silence, before a choked breath on the other end.

“Oh my…” Alfred’s voice seemed… proud. “Well. I shall do as you request, Master Timothy. Miss Thompkins will be here, and Bruce will not. I will looking forward to your arrival.” Alfred hung up the phone, and Tim turned around to go back into the medbay…

Only to get greeted by a giant red face, an enormous tongue coated with saliva heading straight for his face, and a huge hole in the side of the Tower.

“What the HELL!” Tim screeched, his voice going up an octave as Goliath swiped his tongue up Tim’s body.


	9. When Disaster Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all goes to hell.

“Bruce. Bruce.” Tim was chasing the man through the hallways of the manor, steering him towards the cave. None of them had expected Bruce home so early, so to see him was an icy shock. Tim had noticed first, while Alfred and Leslie had been helping Damian stretch. Tim had watched them do so, looking on in wonder at the differences. The boy’s back muscles were enormous, despite being told that they had been subject to atrophy due to lack of use and nutrients. Tim didn’t think he could ever stop looking at Damian’s wings - he supposed, in a way, he was supposed to find it odd that a human-esque creature could have such appendages grafted onto their backs. But every minute Tim spent with Damian and Leslie, was another minute he was hit the fact that the Winged had such a culture that Tim didn’t think he could ever understand. He had even gotten up at the crack of dawn, watching as Damian and Leslie began to whistle. Whistle like birds, high and low respectively, and even more, Tim had heard the other Winged reply.

Damian had left that session with bright eyes, his skin a healthy bronze. Tim hadn’t even noticed how dead the boy had looked in comparison to himself now. Today, Damian had worn a loose black t-shirt, with holes cut in the back for his wings, along with a pair of tight, dark jeans and army boots that were laced up perfectly. Leslie had encouraged Damian to keep his wings out, and Alfred had enforced it, letting Damian know as soon as they were alone. The boy didn’t go to school. Bruce had first tried to insist on it, but Alfred had shot him down and opted instead to keep Damian home. Dick was always in Bludhaven, and hadn’t visited since he got out of the hospital. Jason, for reasons that everyone pretended to not know but definitely did, was never home. Leslie today was wearing a long sleeve white shirt and a comfortable pair of leggings. Alfred was predictably in his butler’s outfit, watching and learning as Leslie and Damian interacted. Today, they were focusing on muscle stretching. Tomorrow was going to be strength practice, and the day after Damian’s first flight.

Well, it would be if Bruce didn’t catch them. As soon as Tim had noticed the Batmobile roar through the trees, quickly, and missed by the others, he had run for the Cave, shouting orders behind him. He had ducked through the forest they were in, to obscure the view of Damian and Leslie’s wings, and had gone into the Manor, heading for the Cave. Bruce had tried to come out, to find Damian, but Tim had bothered him enough that the man was heading back down in an attempt to shake Tim off.

Also, Bruce was being a stubborn, pig-headed moron.

“I’m going after that Winged.” Bruce said, turning the clock hands and opening the elevator, going in. Tim hurried in after him, glaring sheer daggers. He didn’t look threatening, and he knew that. He was small. Lithe and short. Covered in muscle, yes, but lacking the sheer bulk and shoulder mass that Dick, Jason, and Bruce sported. But what Tim lacked in muscle mass, he made up for in sheer tone. He followed Bruce down into the Cave, eyebrow raised.

“You realize that that Winged saved me, right?” Tim snapped. “I’ve checked and rechecked - Winged typically aren’t that small! I’ve analyzed his wing patterns too, he hasn’t used them in such a long time, and because he’s so small, he has to be a child!” Tim crossed his arms, zip-up hoodie providing the warmth Tim had missed from this man for so long. “Do you have any idea how disastrous it would be to hurt a child? You might as well put a revolving door on Arkham’s cells!”

“They’re not cells, they are containment facilities-”

“I don’t see the difference, Bruce! You lock people up in there who haven’t done anything - it isn’t right!”

At that, Bruce levelled Tim with a sharp look. “Not right?” the man turned away from the computer and stalked over to Tim, intimidating with his height and sheer bulk. The cowl around his face posed a sheer darkness, and Tim knew that he wasn’t talking to Bruce. Bruce didn’t really exist, after all. Bruce died the night his parents did. Bruce was a mask.

Batman was the man behind it.

“Not right.” Bruce repeated. “Was it right when they killed my parents? Was it right when one dropped your father out of midair, was it right when the Joker killed Jason?!” Bruce’s voice rose, and kept rising, the volume echoing throughout the cave. Echoing as if it were empty. “Was it right-”

“Drake.” at the voice, both of their heads snapped towards the entrance to the Batcave. Damian stood there, blinking softly. His voice had deepened once more, taking on the prideful edge of hatred, one that Tim knew now was just a farce. His wings were gone, shoes off, and he looked small. So small. Tim felt his heart seize, and he almost wanted to cry and laugh at the same time - Damian was small, yet seemed to take up the entire space without moving a single muscle or growing a single inch. “Pennyworth requires assistance with carrying the baskets of laundry and has sent me for your aid.”

Tim nodded once, and sent a dark look at Bruce as he left. The older man drew back slightly, concerned and feeling the familiar swell of territorial anger rise up in his chest as the boy’s ice cold eyes darkened dangerously, leaving Bruce fixated on those orbs that swum with possessiveness, and a deadly threat. Tim turned away, following his younger brother out of the Cave. Bruce watched those elevator doors close with some sort of finality, and he felt his breath leave his body. Dark ocean orbs searched the floor for answers as he dissected the look in Tim’s eyes. The boy had never looked deadlier, and Bruce wanted answers. Tim’s eyes had narrowed in anger, the silent promise of a threat to his life looming in ice blue glaciers that had rooted Bruce to where he stood. Coldness had seeped off from his second youngest, his mouth the thin line of a blade. Bruce had thought that Tim was gentler, kinder than either of his previous Robins. But that was a side of the boy Bruce had not known existed. And why was Tim so interested in this topic now? Bruce had specifically taken the boy in after his father had died because Tim was hell-bent on revenge on the Winged. Bruce had known that the child would pursue them, with or without his guidance, and Bruce would be dammed if he allowed another child to end up just as broken as himself. At least with Bruce here, Bruce could try to heal him.

Bruce took long strides to the Batcomputer, spinning the chair and settling into it, feet planted firmly on the floor. He brought up Tim’s search history, leafing through case files and crime scenes. He growled when that yielded nothing, requesting access to Tim’s personal files. The files came, and Bruce scanned through them. Contacts, people’s pictures, images of Gotham, and of Tim himself littered the files. Nothing conclusive.

His fingers flew across the keys as he began to hack, uncovering evidence that Tim believed to have left behind. Files seeped in, ones of molting and general wing structure, articles about the Winged themselves, all on their weaknesses. A different Word document came up, and Bruce paused, clicking on the file. It was a journal, full of Tim’s neatly structured paragraphs. Bruce narrowed his eyes, blinking softly as he read.

_The Birdsong - something they sing in the morning to celebrate life. They believe the Earth and all its inhabitants are connected, and that they need to live like they will not the next day. They believe in providing for the future, for striving for success and to be better every day. Every day, he’s trying something new, and setting new goals to complete. That’s why their soul bonds are circles, to symbolize the connections between us all. The Winged, the humans, every living creature on this planet._

Bruce leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. “Computer.” he ordered. “Bring up the footage of the Cave and Manor between today and last week, and search for anything under BC-431.”

The computer began scanning through hours upon hours of footage, until it paused on particular clip, of the sliding glass doors leading out to the back of the Manor. It was connected to mostly fields and foliage. Bruce leaned forward, chin in his hands as he studied it. The door creaked open gently, followed by a black head of hair. Bruce watched as his youngest peeked inside, turning his head and yelling something at someone outside of the mansion. Bruce’s eyes scanned the footage, head tilted slightly to the right. What about this footage, this particular piece of surveillance, was odd? It was nice, however, to see Damian looking so-so… Bruce’s eyes widened in thought. Damian looked… healthier. Cleaner. Happier. When he arrived, Bruce had merely assumed that his disposition and lack of a healthy tone were just things he was born with. Bruce had never had an outside reference of before. What changed?

Then something made Bruce’s breath catch, in a quick, terrible burst of realization. As Damian inched forward, wings the colour of a threatening storm followed, a thick stripe of white down the middle. Mockingbird wings. Bruce fell back, shock filtering through his body. The numb sensation entered his chest as the computer continued droning on.

The boy entered the Manor, swiping the keys to Dick’s acrobatic training area off the small table by the door and making a hasty retreat right out of the sliding doors. The footage stopped, and Bruce’s eyes fell to his keyboard. He could hear nothing but the beating of his own heart. In and out, the blood went through his body. His hands shook, vision fading in and out. His jaw began to shake, body hunching to be instinctively closer to the fetal position.

Blood rushed in and out.

Blood that had been spilled, torn out, ripped, blood that had come from two who had been slain… blood that burned at the sight of the wings across his son’s back, blood that raged and cried for vengeance. His mind whispered. How could he have known? How could he have not?

The man, still shaking, still dazed, turned to get up, the chair spinning 180 degrees. He raised his head, coming face to face with the woman there. She tilted her own head, ethereal body made of clouds, always shifting and never stopping. The only physical thing about her was the mockingbird feather hanging from her right ear.

Bruce was immediately put on guard, the feeling of sheer power washing over him as the winds began to escalate, blowing into his face and her body into nothingness. _Touch him._ it murmured, almost seductively, and Bruce shivered. _And you die._

“I’m not afraid of death.” he murmured back, raising his head. He swore he could almost feel a smile in response. The wind brushed past him one last time before dissipating. One last message.

_Your city is._

-

“Something’s wrong.” Damian said, glancing outside the window. He could feel anger, hatred, and sheer jealousy curling over him in waves that didn’t belong to himself. Tim focused his gaze on Damian as the boy went to the window, pushing it open. The boy’s eyes widened. “Call the Justice League.” he murmured.

“What?”

“Call the League.” Damian tore his eyes away, allowing his desperation to shock Tim into action. “Now!” he screamed. Tim took off for his communicator, and Damian turned back to the scene outside. A woman screamed as a building toppled, her body hidden under pounds of stone. Damian’s eyes shifted to the Wayne building, set on fire, to the people running in the streets, crying out as the sheer oxygen was sucked out of their lungs and fed to the flames. He watched the smoke rise into the air, heard people desperately abandoning their cars in hope of rescue.

The Winged cried, the Wind spewed forth, and Gotham burned. Damian felt his cellphone ring cheerily in his pocket, and he brought the device to his mouth, swiping his thumb across the surface.

“Damian! I’m watching the news in Bludhaven, what the hell is happening? What’s going on?” Dick’s voice sounded and Damian didn’t think he could hear him. Outside, an apartment building blew up from the inside, glass shattering and flames scorching. A body, still on fire, fell from the fifth story window and onto the grass outside, the vegetation quickly lighting up. Numbly, Damian stepped onto the ledge and looked down. He felt his Bond tug, felt Goliath respond to his numbness, felt the beast as he lifted up from the ground. Dick’s nattering grew more persistent, and Damian allowed his arm to drop, fingers loosening the grip on the phone until it fell to the ground below, shattering beneath Alfred’s English rose garden.

“Damian!” from somewhere in the house, Father roared. Damian turned as the man burst into his room, anger lighting every feature, and Damian closed his eyes. Damian allowed his wings to slide from their tattoos, eyes lighting up in a dangerous blue glow, a circle erupting beneath his feet. His power wasn’t one used for fighting, but one used to aid. His vocal chords changed, allowing for a higher pitch. Growing stronger against the vibrations of his voice. He heard Father’s breath catch and felt the man leap forwards at him.

Damian leaned forwards, curling his wings to a resting position as he dropped like a stone. He heard Father scream, felt his fingers brush the back of Damian’s left hand. The boy spread his wings, curling the appendages between the Metacarpus and Ulna bones, perking his primary coverts. He came smoothly out of the dive, stretching the Radiale joint out once more, gliding from the momentum given to him. He flapped his wings once, flicking his primaries and secondaries, giving extra glide to the flap. He angled his body upwards, keeping his legs tight together, his hands fisted by his thighs. He allowed the third eyelid hidden behind his usual one to cover his eyes against the wind currents, protecting his eyes while continuing to remain within a safe range of visibility. The red and blue blur caught his eye, stopping in front of him.

Damian flew right by him, flapping once more to maintain his speed as he flew upwards. “Get everyone out of here!” he ordered, turning his head briefly. The air fought against the movement, slowing him. Damian grit his teeth and pushed forward, finding a friendly current and riding above it, taking some of the pressure off of his wings. His back ached terribly, but he had to move, and he had to move fast. He could feel the power radiating off of her as he came across her conscious form, settled above the clouds. He drew his body upright, allowing his wings to flap, secondaries steadying for balance while his primaries curled downwards.

They had been in pain, and they were her children. She was all they had. She was reacting as any mother would.

And Gotham was burning.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian watched as the ashes rose over Gotham. He watched as the sun set, the moon coming out to see the destruction for herself. Damian wondered. He had the Wind at his back, Goliath at his heels, catching up quickly to his current position, and hell in his heart.
> 
> Damian was ready to face his demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I have no excuses.

When Superman sped off, heeding Damian’s orders, he huffed a sigh of relief. He whipped his head around, nostrils flaring. Agony tore through his back, and he fell sideways, left wing locking up as the muscle supporting it crumbled under the pressure to perform. Damian grit his teeth, rolling his shoulder and blocking out the pain. He breathed. He counted the flaps.

One.

Two.

One.

Two.

His eyes opened, peering upwards at the sky. His gaze narrowed, fingertips pressing into his hands, knuckles gone white with lack of blood flow. His hair was ruffled in the strong breeze, and finally, the Wind seemed to find him. Gusts, gentle as the breeze on a sunny day, supported his wings. He felt them nudge underneath his feathers, catching his primaries and messing with them playfully. She began to lower him, slowly, softly. He wasn’t able to fly yet, and to allow him to continue as he was would just send his body into shock. His muscles were not capable of producing that effort, and if he dropped, the damage would be considerable. Damian allowed his feet to touch the asphalt, feeling the breeze play with his hair. He could feel the feather connecting Her to him, keeping him in Her heart as she watched over Gotham. Damian turned his gaze. He watched the buildings burn.

He thought maybe he’d find his humanity among the flames. Perhaps a shred of guilt, of remorse. Yet, he had found these people lacking. They tore his peoples’ wings off. Damian should want revenge. He didn’t want revenge. Were they really his people? He had not grown up with them, merely educated on their culture. Damian looked up, huffing out a breath. A strong northern current helped to usher a small family away, the mother looking around protectively, kitchen knife clutched tightly in her hand, while her partner carried their small child away to safety, his much larger body shielding the child’s, her little face buried in her father’s chest, her eyes closed. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t see any of this.

The sound of acceleration hit Damian’s ears, and he looked up, watching Superman’s red cape fly as he picked civilians up and deposited them to Bludhaven, where Damian was sure Dick was helping to organize the rescue effort. Damian watched the Batplane disengage from the tracks, soaring into the sky and putting out fires. Damian knew that work would always come first, when it came to himself and his Father. He was a Winged. What was the point of saving him, after all?

Damian’s eyes fell downcast as She whispered to him, prepared to risen her hand and knock Father from the sky. Damian shook his head softly, and she cradled him, cooing comfortingly. She brought with her the smell of vanilla and cinnamon, and Damian damn near melted with the comfort.

“You have to stop this. You’ve made your point, and I’m sure evacuating every Winged was your first priority.” Damian murmured, feeling Her pause in Her efforts.

_You do not know what your people have suffered. You have been blind to it, small one._ She murmured back, quiet noises and phrases. _You have not seen the damage humans have caused. You have not been here long._

“But is violence truly the answer?” Damian looked up at the sky, watching the poisonous fumes rise higher and higher. “Have you not destroyed enough?”

_I will stop when the city is nothing but ash. My people are safe, and the humans are being rescued. I will not stop supposed heroes from helping people, and if they manage to save most of these disgusting creatures, so be it._ She brushed a lock of his hair back from his face, and for a moment, Damian could see her endlessly-shifting face _I wish you would leave this place. You do not have to stay._

“Damian!” Damian’s head snapped sideways, and he stared wide-eyed as Tim came running at him. Before he could even respond, Tim yanked his arm up, nearly launching Damian into the air. The Wind worriedly fluttered at him, making strands of his hair spin in circles. “That was a real stupid stunt you pulled there!” Tim scolded, wrapping his arm around Damian’s bicep and pulling harshly, beginning to run. “You could’ve damaged your muscles bad enough they’ll never heal again!”

“Timothy… where are we going?” Damian asked, numbly. Smoke blew past his face and he fought the urge the cough, cinders following in its wake. Horrified, Tim turned to watch a building begin to crumble on top of them. Tim wrapped his arms around Damian, and Damian felt his heartbeat, staggering and so, so scared. The wall groaned as it fell.

A gust speaking of fury blew straight past them, slamming with all its might into the wall, blowing it back, and forcing it to fall the other direction. Damian opened his eyes, watching as the South Wind nodded briefly at him, before speeding off, orange trail just barely visible as they flew. Tim tugged Damian along, forcing his stumbling feet to trip three times before he caught up. 

“We’re going to the Tower.” Tim huffed. “I have the jet ready to go. Once we’re there, we’ll get some food, money, and head out.”

“Timothy, Father-”

“Oh, I know, I saw the Cave footage. We should have been a hell of a lot more careful.” Tim snarled, fury lighting in the narrowing of his ice-cold eyes. “I won’t let him hurt you, Damian. That’s a promise.”

Damian cast his eyes downwards. He took a soft inhale, and then closed his eyes, exhaling in a harder breath. “If you come with me, Father will be furious. We will both be hunted.” Damian said, looking up at Tim with understanding dawning in his eyes. “Are you really willing to give up all of your friends… your life? It doesn’t make any sense, Timothy.” Tim just rolled his eyes, continuing to drag Damian along. Damian could see the jet in the distance, bright red and blinding. It almost seemed to whisper to him, breaking through the fuzz that was buzzing around in Damian’s head.

It whispered promises of comfort, of false protection. Of hope with the consequence of destroying someone he cared about. Damian knew Timothy, whether the man realized it himself or not. Timothy was someone Grandfather had him extensively research. Timothy had the capacity for cruelty, and to become one of the strongest political leaders. However, after the loss of several of his close friends, even distant family, those remaining, he attached himself to.

If Damian were to be responsible for forcing him to abandon his friends, he would be responsible for stealing Timothy’s very happiness. He couldn’t be responsible for that. He didn’t want to be. Damian closed his eyes, hiding their glow as he activated his powers. The circle drew itself at his feet, floating along with him, but Timothy didn’t seem to notice, too intent on leaving the burning city behind for good to notice Damian’s actions.

Damian activated his powers, feeling the strange itch as his vocal chords rearranged, taking on the shape of a voice he had heard before. A lower timbre than himself, huskier and rough. Rarely cracked, but was still raspy enough that it happened. His chords resonated lower in his throat, the majority of his mimic’s breath having to come through heavy pectoral muscles, through lungs that were not human. Damian felt his vibrations change, as he opened his mouth, humming lightly to get the feel for it.

“ _ **Tim! PLEASE!**_ ”

He let the voice carry, the Wind helping by changing how the echoes of Damian’s soft voice hit Tim’s ear. The man froze, eyes widening as his head whipped around. Damian had spent years memorizing sound, how to bend it to his will. Tim’s grip tightened for a moment, and he glanced back at Damian, fear written on his face.

“The Titans… Kon! They’re here.” Tim murmured, eyes darting around. “I have to… I-” Tim glanced at Damian, holding his eyes for a brief moment before determination schooled his features. “Get in the jet, Damian!” Tim hollered, letting go of Damian’s hand, eyes burning the brightest ice Damian had ever seen. “I’ll meet up with you as soon as I’m done! You know how the cloaking features, work - use them!” Tim sprinted off to the northeast, where a hospital was collapsing. Damian could see the sign fall from here.

And there, Damian stood. Fire and flames caressing his face and blowing his willpower about. He blinked softly, the ashes getting in the way. He twisted around, dropping his powers and folding his wings inward, taking a deep breath as he drew them back into his tattoos. He hissed in pain, hunched over as they returned, mourning their freedom. Damian glanced up, and took one step forwards.

Away.

This was his problem now, he wasn’t about to force Timothy to carry his burdens for him. He took one step, then another. Further and further away. When Timothy noticed him missing, decidedly not in the jet, he tried to search for him. Damian had seen him once, heard whispered warnings from the Wind many. Timothy stayed until his team actually arrived, carrying him away as he screamed and cried out. He was calling for Damian.

Damian stayed in the wreckage of a ruined building, covering the sounds of his heartbeat with destruction of the city around him. Bodies lay in piles, small fires still burning. Damian wandered to the top end of Gotham, finding the Wayne Estates. He looked upon the pristine gardens, trees trimmed to perfect, each blade of grass meticulously cut to the exact same length, courtesy of Alfred’s perfectionism. Damian closed his eyes and continued. 

He missed the way Tim lunged at Bruce, and when Bruce opened his arms for a hug, Tim slapped him. He missed the way Tim screamed bloody murder at Bruce for chasing his son, for having the audacity to be angry at such a gift.

Damian missed the way Dick cried as he tried to hold his shattering family together. He missed the way Alfred’s shaking hands dropped one of Bruce’s mother’s antique China plates. He missed the three teardrops that fell to the floor soon after, because Alfred was a soldier and was used to losing people.

Damian kept walking.

Damian watched as the ashes rose over Gotham. He watched as the sun set, the moon coming out to see the destruction for herself. Damian wondered. He had the Wind at his back, Goliath at his heels, catching up quickly to his current position, and hell in his heart.

Damian was ready to face his demons.


End file.
